


Part Four: The Sign of the Ponix

by laridian



Series: A Gun For Barns [4]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Amnesia, Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas Eve, M/M, Mild Language, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, cannibalism mention, characters and ships added as they appear in the story, ships will change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 00:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 45
Words: 58,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19819051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laridian/pseuds/laridian
Summary: Gunnar Volk took over from Mr. House, but now faces the NCR, the Legion, the many squabbling tribes of the Mojave, Christmas, and relationships.IF YOU READ THIS ANYWHERE EXCEPT AO3, I DID NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR IT TO BE POSTED ELSEWHERE. IF IT IS POSTED ELSEWHERE, IT HAS BEEN STOLEN. DO NOT SUPPORT THIEVES.





	1. Makin' Whoopee

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter: Boone and Gunnar finally get some adult time together.

"You're sure Yes Man isn't listening?"

Gunnar nodded. He wasn't certain that the current painkillers wouldn't hurt him worse, but Arcade had insisted he try the mildest one: "You'll need it if you want any relief."

Yes Man was now installed in the Lucky 38 mainframe, giving him full control of the Securitrons. He still obeyed Gunnar's every word.

"I told him not to listen to anything in this suite unless otherwise directed," Gunnar said. His leg stretched out before him on the huge bed, treated, wrapped and now only aching instead of on fire. 

"Good." Arcade sat back. 

"So you're taking over," Boone said. He'd been concerned-angry at Gunnar for taking the risks, but had calmed down since. 

"I am. And I want both of you here with me. By my side. Because I need you both," Gunnar said. "I need your knowledge and expertise. And I want you both here anyway." 

The painkiller was making him sleepy, or maybe it was just everything that had happened. "Arcade, see if there's some soda in — never mind, it's all back at the Tops." Gunnar rubbed his eyes. "I bet there hasn't been food here for the better part of two hundred years. Okay. We need to get everything moved over from the Tops. Swank'll like that, we'll give him the suite back. Boone, he knows you, can you take care of that?"

"I can," Boone said guardedly. "You really think you're this king under the mountain?"

Gunnar laughed. "I'm no king," he said. "I just want to save the world, remember?"

"If you're still planning on that, try not to get yourself hurt like this again," Arcade said. "Even with treatment you'll be down for a little while."

"That's fine. It gives us time to plan. So. Boone, get all our stuff from the Tops. Arcade, talk to Jane or Yes Man and see what kind of housekeeping there is. Is the water running, does anything need maintenance, stuff like that. If we're going to live here, we might as well make it comfortable."

"All right. But you're getting sleepy, aren't you?"

"Yes. I hope you didn't drug me."

"No, I didn't. You're just badly knocked about, you've had a difficult day, your leg will have some interesting scars when it heals, and you just took power."

"Now I'm going to Nuka-World," Gunnar giggled. Neither of them got the joke, he could tell. "Okay. I'll sleep now."

~ ~ ~

Diary:  
 _  
It's been 2 days since I took power from Mr. House. It sounds like my information campaign is going ok — spreading the word that I'm Mr. House's protege and I'm acting on his behalf due to recent ill health. They probably already suspect I took over, but history has taught that it's good to gloss things up a little._

_L38 is working now. Of course we have to get food in here so the robot chef can cook, but I talked with Swank. Said "we" (Mr. House and I) would continue to back him as new head of the Chairmen, if he'd arrange contracts for food and supplies to be delivered here. Swank's pretty curious but he needs the backing "we" can provide._

_Leg is better. Walked a little on it today, I think tomorrow I can do more, then I have to get moving. Only so long before things really start happening, and I have to get all these groups to recognize my authority._

_I really hope this is going to work.  
_

~ ~ ~

Boone presented Gunnar with a cane. "Until you can walk without one."

Gunnar laughed and immediately tried it out. "Yeah, I think I'll need it a few more days. Arcade already doesn't like me putting weight on my leg."

"I suppose I could carry you," Boone said, smiling a little.

"You could," Gunnar agreed, leaning against him, then he kissed Boone. 

"Mm," Boone mumbled through the kiss, then afterward, "So you just want me here for military advice?"

"Of course not. Also for your rugged good looks and…" Gunnar looked up to Boone's hairline. "I like your hair, when you don't shave it off."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. When it's growing back in and it's all short and velvety. Besides, it's winter, keep your head warm." Gunnar limped to the far side of the room, using the cane. "Okay, now help this old man back to the bed."

"You're not… I guess you are an old man."

"That's right, you damn kid. Ow! Help me over there."

Boone picked up Gunnar, who, surprised, put his arms around Boone's neck. "There. Happy now?"

"Yeah, actually. This is nice." Gunnar looked into Boone's eyes. "So… carry me to the bed?"

Boone tensed up a little, before carrying Gunnar as directed. "You, ah… feeling better lately," he said. 

"Yeah, I am. Jeez, you're strong. I bet you could've carried me back from the Legion fort that week."

"Not if I had to shoot anything. Besides, if you were moving, I knew you were alive."

"Oh."

Boone eased Gunnar to a sitting position on the bed. "You good?"

"Yeah. Hey, join me, huh?"

"…Sure." Boone did. "I brought those clothes over too from the Tops."

"Oh good." Gunnar leaned the cane against the bed. "What's bugging you?"

"Arcade… asked if we wanted any… you know. Advice."

Gunnar blinked, then laughed.

"What?" Boone asked.

"That's hilarious. I mean, you were married, me… I'm pretty sure," he said, more haltingly. "I mean… I'm guessing I…" He chewed on his lower lip.

"I don't want his advice," Boone said bluntly.

"Why not? He ought to know."

"It's _Arcade._ He's already a smartass."

"Well." Gunnar leaned back on the bed. "I could ask for you."

"Hell no."

"Boone."

"You already give him those looks and… he doesn't need any ideas," Boone finished.

Gunnar didn't think he'd been doing anything overt, but — "You're jealous," he said.

"He's been hinting and… you hug him, and…" Boone focused on the far wall.

Boy, this was awkward. "Craig." Gunnar propped himself up on one arm. "I love you. You remember that, right?"

Boone half-turned to face him. "Yeah. I remember."

"And… I guess I like people, mostly, and I want to think the best of them, and help them be their best — "

"You're too damn good for this world."

"That too," Gunnar said with a smile. "And that includes a smartass like Arcade." Who seemed half-familiar sometimes, and not quite, other times… "He's been good to us, Craig. And I like him. I'm not going to lie to you."

"Mm." Boone kept staring at the far wall.

"Hey." Gunnar tugged at Boone's arm. "C'mon. Lie down."

Boone did so, and Gunnar cuddled up to him. "I love you," he said, kissing Boone's cheek. "Didn't we go through hell together already?"

"Yeah." Boone put his arms around Gunnar.

"That's right. Didn't I give you a third and fourth chance?"

"Yeah…"

"So drop it already. It's not pretty."

Boone snorted.

"Okay, you're not pretty either," Gunnar added. "I'm the pretty one."

"I don't believe you," Boone said, but he was smiling again. 

"What's not to believe? And I have great hair."

"You're not keeping that goofy poof thing. You said it would wash out." Boone flicked Gunnar's hair.

"Hey, stop that!"

"Make me."

Gunnar tried to tickle Boone, but it didn't work. "You're not ticklish?"

Boone shook his head. "No."

"Good thing I've got Plan B." Gunnar pulled Boone close and kissed him, harder this time, ran one hand over Boone's shoulders.

It worked.

Their kiss grew more intense, and Boone held him tight. Their tongues met, and Gunnar thought how good it felt

— again? — 

to be close with someone, like this, in love.

~ ~ ~ 

Gunn had it under control, Boone realized. He'd done this before. He knew what he was doing. 

…Boone hoped, because he still wasn't completely sure about this. The kissing was good — better than good — but how far Gunn intended to go — 

"It's okay," Gunn whispered in his ear, making him shiver. "Relax. I don't bite."

That was good to know too. 

"Take off your shirt," Gunn said, and began unbuttoning his own. 

"What about your leg?" It was a last-ditch effort to postpone something he wasn't sure he wanted to put off.

"Just take off your shirt and lie down next to me."

Boone did so. Yeah, this was new territory, a far cry from soft tits that fit comfortably in his hands. 

"Give me your hand." Gunn took Boone's hand and placed it on his own chest, then kissed him again. "It's okay," he whispered again. "This isn't a test."

That broke the ice. Boone chuckled, kissed Gunn with more feeling.

Now he began to move his hand, explore this new body next to his, while Gunn kissed his face and neck and gave him the shivers. Yes, dark copper chest hair under his fingers, but when Boone's fingers touched Gunn's nipple, he moaned into Boone's mouth. 

That, Boone understood. He kept rubbing and squeezing it between his fingers, and Gunn's kisses got harder and hotter, until Gunn began fumbling at Boone's belt.

Boone let go so he could undo his own belt and pants, and then Gunn reached inside and _damn,_ that felt good, it had been a long time since Mags, and again Gunn knew what he was doing, he'd done this before. He started jerking Boone off, kissing him, down his neck, chest, gently taking Boone's nipple in his teeth and flicking his tongue over it. Gunn meant it, he didn't bite, just teased like all hell, and damn if it didn't feel great.

Gunn paused, undid his own pants. Boone tensed again — he wasn't ready to go that far, not yet — but instead Gunn took Boone's hand, and guided it so they held their cocks together. 

"Like this," Gunn directed him, "yeah, see? It's good?"

It was. Also weird, but — yes, good. 

~ ~ ~

Yes Man might not be listening, but some sounds traveled through walls or doors. Arcade knew he shouldn't be listening in. He should just come back later with what he had to say. But, dammit — they didn't need his advice on sexual matters, fine — sounded like they were getting along just fine at last — and his mind's eye could fill in a lot of details, which made it harder to walk away.

~ ~ ~

Gunn groaned and kissed Boone hard, plunging his tongue into his mouth, and Boone could feel the sticky heat on their hands and sliding between their cocks. The new sensation tipped him over the edge, and he thrust into their hands, grunting with release.

~ ~ ~ 

That was okay, Boone thought, when he drowsily began thinking again. Should've trusted Gunn in the first place, but… He yawned and cuddled closer to the redhead, who made an appreciative sleepy noise.

Of course they were still half in their clothes, but that didn't affect the nice basking mood Boone was in. And no intercom to interrupt them this time, he thought lazily. Good.


	2. The Wayward Wind

"So I've got to talk to the Omertas and the White Gloves," Gunnar said. "I don't know anything about them except what Swank and you have said." He resisted the urge to touch his hair again. It stubbornly resisted any attempt to wash out that style.

"And the Boomers!" Yes Man happily reminded him. "That'll be really dangerous, too!"

"Thanks for the info.”

“Then there's the NCR, you know they won't be happy with any change to the status quo!"

"And Caesar's assassins. Okay." Gunnar looked over the map Yes Man projected onto one of the monitors. "What's this here?"

"That's where those Great Khans hang out! The NCR doesn't like them much!"

"Yeah, I read that." The NCR and Khans had a long-running, mostly hostile relationship that Gunnar had read about during his research at the embassy. This likely had influenced Bitter Springs, though there had been absolutely no mention of the massacre in the NCR records. "Might be worth talking to them, too. I can probably get the Followers on board with me. But I really don't want to fight a two-front war."

"I'm sure our Securitrons will be more than a match for anyone!"

"The Legion's going to be serious as a heart attack, Yes Man. I only have so many robots I can deploy, and a lot of ground to cover. Sure, they'll probably attack the dam, but that means I need to help the NCR protect it, and I don't need them panicking and shooting at my troops in the process. Never mind if the Legion comes at us from elsewhere on the river." Gunnar stood and stretched. "Caesar sees himself as heir to the glory of Rome, but he doesn't have a capital city. That's why he wants Vegas. This could be his Nova Roma. And to do that… the original Caesar, Julius, crossed the Rubicon to enter Rome and start a civil war to take over. The Colorado's the Rubicon in this instance. He knows exactly what he's doing." Gunnar shook his head. "He's smart, and he plans for the long term."

Gunnar heard a cough from the office door. Looking up, he saw Arcade there. "Hi. What's up?"

"Do you have a moment that we can talk?"

"Sure. C'mon in." 

Arcade entered but did not sit. "Any day now, Caesar's going to try to march across Hoover Dam and kick NCR out of the Mojave."

"Yeah, I've been working on that. Hoping we have enough time." Gunnar gestured to the map monitor. "Yes Man, take five, would you?"

"Okey-dokey!" The smiling face disappeared, but the map stayed.

"It's the phrase Benny set to mean 'give me some privacy'," Gunnar explained. "So what's up?"

"I know I'm just along for the ride, but it's made me think about the past, how I might be able to help out."

"Okay. How's that?"

Arcade took off his glasses, possibly to clean them, definitely to fidget. "I wasn't always with the Followers, or with the NCR. My late father was an officer in a group called the Enclave, a remnant of America's Pre-War government. Memories being short around here, not a whole lot of people remember them. But they did bad things. Terrorized communities, kidnapped people."

"I'm sorry," Gunnar said.

"Yes, well… Eventually, someone stopped them. I was born a few years later at a military base on the coast, a place called Navarro."

"And because of who your people were, it's not always safe to talk about them. Yeah. I know." Or at least, Gunnar thought he did, some little bit of memory poking at him. "You grew up there?"

"Not for long. After the Enclave's command structure fell apart, it was only a matter of time before Navarro was overrun by NCR forces. My mother and I left with some of the troopers from my father's old unit, the same people I've kept in contact with over the years. Anyone who didn't get out was killed by the NCR. Even some of the ones who escaped were eventually hunted down by the Brotherhood of Steel." Arcade finished with his glasses and replaced them on his face.

"Christ. I'm sorry, Arcade. Are there any left? Where did they go?"

"A lot of different places. I only know what I was told. Some of them were cut down by the NCR and the Brotherhood. Some of them went east." Unlike Boone, Arcade needed to fidget, it appeared. He began slowly pacing the office. "My mother never told me what happened to my father, but she and I went south with some others and integrated into the NCR. When the NCR learned that Enclave personnel had integrated, we kept moving to the fringes. It's one of the reasons why I wound up out here."

"But… you're a whole generation removed from that. You aren't Enclave. Not really. You shouldn't be punished for something that happened before you were born."

"Ever the optimist," Arcade said, forcing a smile. "And maybe you'll bring a new era of peace and tolerance to the Mojave."

Gunnar shrugged. "It's possible. So where are you going with all this?"

"The Enclave did a lot of bad things, but there were good people at Navarro. Good people with a lot of experience. Not many of them are alive anymore, but I think they could make a difference in the fight against Caesar."

Gunnar raised his hands. "Say no more. I'll do it."

"Great! I thought you would. I'd like you to talk to the old-timers, the people that went with my mother and I. I don't think I can convince them by myself. To them, I'm still a kid."

"Arcade, you're thirty-five!" Gunnar laughed. "But I know what you mean."

"Right, so you know that because they saw me grow up, it doesn't matter how old I am. And, if you genuinely slept in a Vault for two hundred years, you're older than any of us, so you should be able to talk old-people at them just fine."

"Shut yer yap, you whippersnapper!" Gunnar teased. "And get off my lawn. Sure, if they'll listen to me, I'll talk to them."

"I think when you do, they'll understand how important this all is. I've kept in contact with them over the years, so I know where you can find them, but I doubt they'll open up to you unless I come along." Arcade paused. "I know I'm not always the most serious guy around, but this means a lot to me. Thanks."

"Of course. You two are all the family I have now." Gunnar's left eyelid twitched. "I mean — Arcade, I trust you. You can trust me. I'll talk to them. And who knows, maybe they don't need to stay in hiding after all, when this is all done."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar initially planned to visit the Omertas, but Arcade's request changed those plans. "We'll look for your people first, then by that time I'll probably have to establish myself better on the Strip."

This went well until Gunnar misinterpreted the map on his Pipboy, leading the three into a dust storm at night. 

"How could you get us this off course?" Arcade said over the wind.

"Look, sometimes it just happens!" Gunnar held onto both his companions to avoid losing them in the storm. "Is there any way to get shelter?"

They still couldn't find a tent for sale anywhere. Gunnar guessed they had all been used right after the war.

Boone began to answer, then suddenly he fell away from Gunnar.

"Boone!" Gunnar halted. 

He was answered by loud cursing. "You're on the edge of a cliff," Boone said from somewhere below. "But feels like this is a bunker. There's a door here, set into a wall." 

"I'll take it," Arcade said.

They made their way down to the door, which Boone pushed open. Inside it was dark but blessedly free of sand-laden wind.

"We'll wait out the storm here," Gunnar said, shaking out his arms and legs. The place looked long abandoned and smelled a little musty, but it was dry and free of vermin.

"Hope it doesn't go on all night," Boone said. 

Gunnar went to the back of the bunker, looking carefully behind large metal containers from ages ago.

"Don't wander off." He heard Arcade close behind him.

"I'm not. Just looking. Sometimes there's stuff you can —"

He and Arcade saw the door at the back of the bunker at the same time that it opened, and three figures in powered armor rushed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart of Gunnar by the-crow-king-who-fell on Tumblr:  
> [](https://laridian.smugmug.com/FNV/n-Hq8QXR/i-PkgKgrv/A)


	3. Let's Get Lost

Down they went into the underground warren. Gunnar rubbed his hands against his arms, trying to warm them. The air was a little stale, as they went down a set of stairs, a little metallic — 

_"I can't go in yet."_

_"Sir, you've got to get in there now. I can't guarantee you'll keep your place if you don't."_

_"But I'm waiting for my, for two people, they'll be here any minute!"_

_"Sir, we don't have time! If you're going to keep your place in the Vault you've got to go in now — "_

He came back to Boone and Arcade supporting him. "Everything's fine," he heard Arcade saying. "Just a stumble on the stairs. It's really dark in here, maybe you could turn up the lights just a bit."

"I'm fine," Gunnar said, not entirely truthfully. "I'm fine now. Thanks."

"This is the Brotherhood," Arcade muttered, before letting him go.

The Brotherhood? That sounded familiar — oh. The Brotherhood of Steel. They'd hunted the Enclave diaspora, and at one time had sided with the NCR. Probably not now, though — that's right, the Helios station, the NCR had routed the Brotherhood from there. 

But the Vault, the one he'd gone into — 

_Put away the memory for now. Deal with it later. So, Arcade is just a Follower here, not a problem. And the Brotherhood is all about technology. Maybe we can strike a deal. Those armored suits would help in the upcoming war._

_And if they're about technology, maybe they know where my Vault is._

~ ~ ~

"How the hell did you get into our bunker?"

Gunnar didn't answer what he really thought, because mouthing off when stripped down to his underwear and under guard seemed a very bad idea. Boone had gone stone-faced and Arcade was pale as a ghost. Also, it was chilly in this underground room. 

"We just wandered in. We got lost," Gunnar said instead.

The man in powered armor glowered at them. "You _just_. Got. Lost," he repeated. "And we're supposed to believe that?"

"The door was open," Gunnar said. After Boone had forced it, true, but — 

Another man in armor entered the bare steel room and beckoned to the interrogator. They stepped back and conferred. Their armor bore the insignia of a winged sword over a pair of offset gears, which Gunnar felt he should recognize.

He glanced at his companions. Boone was probably figuring out how to kill everyone in the room, while Arcade, though still pale, seemed to have composed himself. Still, this wasn't good. This didn't seem the kind of interrogation where the truth would be welcomed, as inconvenient as it was.

Their interrogator returned to them, and Gunnar braced himself. "Normally, I would have already shot you," he said, "but the Elder wants to speak to you. Bring him this way."

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Gunnar murmured. Boone shot him a nasty "you can't be serious" look, but Gunnar hoped he could still talk his way out of this.

~ ~ ~

Gunnar had spoken with the Brotherhood Elder, and, according to their guards, an agreement had been reached. Arcade and Boone would be kept as good-faith hostages; Gunnar would go take care of "something" for the Elder. 

"I'll be back soon," Gunnar promised. He was allowed his clothing back, but not yet his armor or weapons or anything useful. "Just… stay safe?"

"Sure," Boone muttered. He and Arcade were still prisoners, after all. They could hardly do much else besides sit and wait, though one possibility was to stage an escape and probably get killed. Arcade didn't like that plan, so they waited.

The Brotherhood wouldn't know he was from an Enclave background, and as long as he and Gunnar said nothing — Boone didn't know yet — his secret was safe. But if Gunnar thought the Brotherhood would help New Vegas? Unlikely. They were hunted by the NCR just as they and the NCR had hunted the Enclave. And so goes the wheel, Arcade thought, and they who were first shall be last. Perhaps that meant the converse as well, that those who were last shall be first, but who would that be? The Enclave? Hardly. Perhaps it was all the "little people" on the edges, all these tribes, who then would argue and bicker… 

It was all too easy to see how a certain kind of mind would come to the conclusion that a firm, perhaps even iron, grip was needed to keep the peace. Would Gunnar do better? Or would he have to resort to the same measures?

Best to wait on that until they survived the upcoming war, Arcade decided. And Gunnar had had a memory episode on the stairs and nearly fallen; it had been a while since one of those. It was only a matter of time before someone began spreading rumors that he suffered fits or worse.

~ ~ ~

It was several hours before Gunnar returned, during which time Arcade and Boone slept uneasily, having been taken prisoner after dark in the first place. When Gunnar approached their cells, he was visibly irritated. "My friends and I are free to go," he told the guards. "We're working on something for the Elder."

They were escorted back to the top, the door closed and locked behind them, and a voice on the intercom informed them that their equipment was in that box to their right, and please don't come back without results.

"Sounds familiar," Arcade muttered.

"Save it," Gunnar snapped. He rubbed at his throat as though it itched. "Let's go."

They left the bunker, blinking at the bright daylight. Gunnar wouldn't speak until they left the area, which, now that there wasn't a sandstorm, they could see had chain-link fencing all around its perimeter. Here and there the fencing had fallen or been cut through, which is probably how they'd stumbled into the place.

"So now we're helping the Brotherhood?" Boone growled.

"Sort of. Yes." Gunnar was still angry about it. "First I had to get rid of an NCR ranger poking around. No, I didn't kill him," he said. "I talked to him, said this was full of Powder Gangers. For now he'll stay away."

"That was all?"

"I guess the Brotherhood didn't want a dead Ranger to cause suspicion."

"What do they want from us now?" Arcade asked.

"Elder McNamara wants me to find out what happened to some patrols. Paladin Hardin wants me to help him take over the Brotherhood chapter here."

"Ah, politics! What strange bedfellows we make!" 

"You're telling me."

"Look, we're out of there, who cares what they're up to," Boone said. 

"Except sooner or later I'll have to deal with them," Gunnar said. "And I'd prefer Paladin Hardin to owe me a big fat favor."

"So what got under your skin?" Boone asked. "You're not usually pissed about helping people."

"I get pissed when they assume I'd leave my friends behind and insist on an explosive collar to make sure I do the job." Gunnar rubbed his neck again. "Just a little extra insurance, it's just business, sure."

"Which is why you've decided to help this Paladin Hardin?" Arcade guessed. "The Elder thought you were too likely to run?"

"Yeah. Do I look that untrustworthy?"

They both demurred, and avoided making jokes about it.

"So, yeah, they get some help, but I expect something back."

"So what work, exactly, did you agree to?"

"Look for some lost Brotherhood patrols on behalf of the Elder. I guess we'll see how things go from there. First one's at an old Repcon site that looks close."

"Like that last 'it looks close'?" Arcade said. "And I thought we were going to visit — my people."

"Yes, I know!" Gunnar snapped. "And I still have to talk to the Omertas and the White Gloves and the NCR and probably the Khans and who knows who else! And there's only one of me!"

"Wait, aren’t Arcade’s people back in Freeside?" Boone asked.

"Oh dear God." Gunnar ran a hand across his face. "Not the Followers. Some other people. Arcade knows them, they might be able to help us too." Say nothing of the Enclave at this time. "Look, I'm running on sugar and soda right now, because it's really hard to sleep with an explosive collar around your neck and your partners are being held hostage until you complete a job. Let's find somewhere for me to crash."

"Yeah, you're grouchy when you don't sleep," Arcade said.


	4. Thanks for the Memory

Diary:  
 _  
Tired. Bugs got into our food so we had to toss a lot of it. (Small bugs. If it had been big bugs there would have been real trouble.) Can still hunt & gather but irritating. _

_Need to learn more maybe about BOS before making full decision on them. Won't help if they can't get along with Arcade's family and NCR. But I know science so that helps? maybe?_

_Craig v clingy. Not sure what's up with that. Hope it doesn't have to do with Arcade. Don't need bickering._

_OK need to figure out priorities.  
Omertas/White Gloves — Take care of both of these when back in Vegas  
BOS — hit Repconn facility on way to see Arcade’s people  
Arcade’s people — see if they will talk to Arcade?  
Great Khans — probably ok to visit them? Have to find their current location (Dead Rock Canyon?)  
Boomers — also a BOS patrol up there somewhere and sounds like boomers are going to be dangerous  
Followers — hope they will just follow my lead (haha) when Arcade & I return there_

_I keep thinking I've missed something, which is why I'm finally writing all this down. But I still think I'm missing something._

_Also I had a memory while at the BOS bunker. I definitely intended to go into the vault with 2 people. 2 partners. No wonder I feel like Arcade should stay with us. Wish I could remember more. Maybe it will come back. Maybe I'll have to wait until after the war is over to afford to look for vaults.  
Also there is that Vault 21 place in Vegas?? Tourist trap? Look up when I get back  
_   
~ ~ ~

"Welcome to REPCONN Headquarters, Rocketeer! Come all this way to see our little facility, have you?"

"I think the robot wants to give us a tour," Arcade said.

"Yeah, but…" A tour did sound like fun, and Gunnar figured he could use the break, but better to get this over with. So much damn work to do. "It's probably designed for kids, y'know…" He drifted to the terminal still flickering green on a desk.

"I've read about REPCONN," Arcade said, as Gunnar began typing and the robot tour guide waited patiently. "I think they did some work with the…" He caught himself, then continued, "the government before the war. Rockets and some energy weapon prototypes, I think."

"What kind of prototypes?" Boone asked.

Gunnar almost locked himself out of the system, rebooted, and tried again.

"Plasma rifles."

"Like what you've got?"

"No, this is laser. The rifles were intended to replace the P94 plasma caster. There was some corporate espionage going on between Poseidon Energy's Project SEMELE and whatever was going on here."

"Project SEMELE?"

Gunnar made an angry noise to himself and tried again. He'd hacked so many computers, even gotten into Mr. House's system, why couldn't he figure this one out?

"Another one of Poseidon Energy's many secret weapons projects. Before the Great War. It didn't go anywhere. That's how REPCONN got their shot. So to speak."

"Looks like the usual robots here though. They've got the Robco logo on them."

"REPCONN went through some rough times. When their rocket business was shaky, Mr. House purchased the company. It didn't take long for him to repurpose their plasma technology for a government weapon contract."

"How do you know all this?" Boone asked.

Arcade was saved from answering when ear-splitting alarm klaxons blared throughout the building. Gunnar groaned angrily and leaned his head against the terminal screen. "Okay, screw it. We'll just have to fight our way through. Try not to damage the exhibits in case I want to come back here later."

"What?" Arcade's hands were already over his ears.

"INTRUDER ALERT — INTRUDER ALERT — "

"This one's mine!" Boone said over the alarms, as the sentry bots barreled into the room.

~ ~ ~

Diary:  
 _  
Repconn was depressing. Tour meant for kids but made me sad. Everything of the old world is gone._

_Got Arcade a new weird energy gun. He's happy. Made usual jokes about "sometimes a plasma rifle is just a plasma rifle" and gun envy (A toward C). Got lots of energy ammo too. Also some nice books from the gift shop._

_Tired and irritable and  
_  
~ ~ ~

"Gunn?" Boone waved a hand in front of his face. No response. Another memory, it looked like, and while he was writing, too. Boone looked aside. Gunn hadn't been himself since they'd left the Brotherhood bunker, pushing himself. Of course if anyone else tried to get into the Lucky 38 and found out what was really going on, it would all fall apart.

"Couldn't you go see your people yourself?" he asked Arcade.

Arcade put down the weird new gun and polishing cloth (packed in the stock, along with a tiny screwdriver and a little dried-out tube of stock polish). "I could, but I know they'll listen better to him."

"Why's that?"

Arcade raised an eyebrow. "I tend to rub people the wrong way."

"That's what she said, right?"

"Did you just make a joke? There might be hope for you yet, Boone."

Boone rolled his eyes and returned his attention to Gunnar, who hadn't moved at all. "Look, I don't know if he can do all this by himself. Even Mr. House sent his robots to do his work. He didn't go all over the Mojave."‘ 

"That's true… but our Mister Volk has a certain personal charm that no Securitron can hope to match, wouldn't you say?"

When Gunnar recovered from his memory, he went off to one side and lay down on the ground, facing away from Arcade and Boone, who looked at each other with concern.

"Gunn?" There was no response.

Boone and Arcade both began to get up, and paused, looking at each other.

"I'll handle it," Boone warned.

"Okay. Sure. I'll just stay over here," Arcade said, elaborately casual. 

"Gunn." Boone sat behind him. 

"Yeah."

"Was it pretty bad?"

"…Yeah." Gunnar sounded like he was trying to hold everything in.

"You're gonna be okay. It hurts. Remember what you said? We're alive. You're tired of hurting."

"…Yeah."

Boone put a hand on his shoulder. This wasn't going well. 

"Look, you're trying to do a lot. Maybe too much. No point in saving the world if you can't be happy. Right?" It sounded like the kind of thing that Gunn would say. Boone glanced at Arcade, who was not-innocently sorting the canned food into three piles and not looking at the other two people at this campsite.

"Craig, I'll be fine." Gunn's quiet voice didn't sound like it. "I just need time." Then, barely audible, "So much time…"

"You remember the good times, don't you."

"Yeah."

"Wish sometimes that you had died instead."

"…Yeah. I do."

"But you said yourself, sometimes things just happen."

Gunnar made a half-laugh, that almost became a sob. "I see what you meant. It's not much comfort to hear that."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I know. And I know it'll hurt less someday. Even if I don't remember everything now, I still miss them." 

"Them?" Hadn't Gunn said ‘he’ before?

"They were supposed to be in the Vault with me. Both of them. And neither one made it." 

"They probably did all right. Most people didn't get into Vaults, and that's why we're here."

"I hope so. But it still means they're gone instead of here." Gunnar sat up. "I'll be fine. Really." He smiled, and it was hard to tell if he meant it. "I can't change it, can I? Whatever happened is long ago, and I have plenty to worry about now. Really, I'm fine," he repeated, looking at Arcade, who didn't look convinced. "But I have a question. If Caesar was taken out — killed or incapacitated — what would happen?"

"Maybe the war would delay a few days?" Boone said. "They have a command structure, and he's stupid if he doesn't have procedure in place for that. At the very least, he's got one or two second in commands who can take over."

"No chance of a civil war while everyone fights it out to be the new Caesar?"

"I doubt it."

"Hm." Gunnar moved back to the little campfire. "It was a thought, anyway. If it were easy enough the NCR probably would have tried it already."

"Maybe they have," Arcade said. "But if they did and failed, Caesar would probably crow about it. So I think they haven't gotten that close. And don't suggest we'll try it, either."

"Yeah. None of this is going to be easy. So I guess I'd better get on with it. Pick a target and go."

If he could delegate some of this — but Arcade either didn't have the confidence, or he'd pissed off some of his people, maybe, so he was needed for the introduction but not the actual asking. Boone wasn't a negotiator. Gunnar needed someone else who could talk for him, but so far the choices were slim and none, and though he liked to think he was a good judge of character, if he could stage a takeover attempt, so could others.


	5. That's When Your Heartache Begins

They.

If you went with the logical next step that Gunn had had two — partners — since he sure hadn't said anything about brothers, sisters, parents or friends, then it was all too easy to see why he wanted Arcade around, and why he kept being really friendly to the Follower.

Of course Arcade was more Gunn's equal when it came to history and science. There was that, too. But still — Arcade? Really?

Arcade snapped his fingers, bringing Boone out of his thoughts. "There are Vaults everywhere, right?" he said.

Gunn shrugged. "So everyone says." He was still dispirited from last night's memory attack.

"Is it possible your friends got into another one?"

"Anything's possible," Gunn admitted. "But they all sealed on the day the bombs fell."

"Sealed, but didn't stay sealed. At least some of them. And a lot of them didn't put people to sleep," Boone said. "A lot of those Vaults were for people to live in until… Well, whenever they were supposed to open. And a lot of them went wrong. In fact —"

"In fact," Arcade said loudly, "we don't actually know much about the Vaults at all, because only one of us present had anything to do with a Vault when they were prepared!" The scathing look he gave Boone said volumes. 

"Can both of you not try to cheer me up, please?" Gunn asked wearily. "It's bad enough as it is, but listening to you two bickering makes it worse."

They fell silent. 

~ ~ ~

They.

At this point, the best he could hope for was that they'd survived, together, and had lived out the rest of their lives in safety. Somehow. Despite all the bombs and radiation and the many ways people could turn on each other. 

And yet… 

Somehow, Gunnar knew that they would have survived. Perhaps "knew" was too certain; but somehow, whether memory or gut instinct, or faith, he thought they had managed. Perhaps even now their descendants roamed the Earth.

Not here though, he suddenly hoped. Not in the Mojave, where he'd fallen in love and also killed an awful lot of people. No, somewhere else.

Not that anyone would know. Gunnar himself couldn't guess who his ancestors from two hundred years before his time might have been, except at least some of them must have been German. After that… Impossible to tell without good records, which were now long gone. 

No, he suspected they'd survived, at least for a while, and they'd been together, probably, which gave him more comfort than his two companions had just done. 

"O brave new world, that has such people in't," he murmured to himself. 

~ ~ ~

They.

If Gunnar had had two partners before the war, and they had all meant to go into the Vault together, that meant Gunnar had experience loving more than one person at the same time, long term.

Arcade didn’t want to feel a surge of hope at the thought, but he did. Sure, relationships could lead to needless complications. Like people expecting you to share your past… but he’d already shared his most dangerous secret with Gunnar, and Gunnar was unfazed. Likely because he didn’t really understand what the Enclave had been, but still. He’d kept his mouth shut when Boone asked, and if that didn’t show Arcade had picked the right person to confide in, nothing would.

Still. Three people, nine times the problems. And Boone was Boone, possessive and jealous, and would probably never be open to sharing his lover, much less any part of himself. Not that Arcade could blame him; he wasn’t exactly ready to share his own secrets with the sniper yet, either. (Personal feelings aside, there was the small matter of a former NCR soldier possibly harboring ill-will toward anyone with Enclave connections, however tenuous.)

Yes, the sensible thing was certainly to put all yearnings aside. (The sensible thing would have been to never mention his Enclave connection in the first place, his conscience uncomfortably reminded him.) He shouldn’t have a relationship now, probably could never in his life have the kind of relationship of equals he wanted.

_But I still want one._


	6. These Foolish Things

Diary:  
 _  
Not the best few days but I suppose could be worse. oh wait no it IS worse. Haha. Gave Arcade some grenades a while back and forgot he still had them. But now we have no more grenades.  
_   
~ ~ ~

Arcade was only half paying attention when he saw something in his peripheral vision. Visibility was already poor here due to the craggy rocks and broken terrain; prime deathclaw territory, or so he understood. He reached for his new plasma rifle, and saw it was nearly out of power. Digging in his pack for a cell, he found instead a grenade. 

"Hey!" he yelled to his companions, who were now farther ahead than he liked. _Don’t yell, stupid, that'll attract the deathclaw!_ He could hear it scuttling just on the other side of the rocks.

Arcade pulled the pin and lobbed it over the rock. It exploded with a satisfying earth-shaking sound, but now the animal noises intensified.

 _Where the hell are the batteries?! Who put all these grenades in here?_ Arcade threw another one, even as he heard Gunnar yelling urgently. Then the thing came around a corner, small but even a small deathclaw could kill a man — 

Its head exploded into tiny bits with a single shot from Boone's rifle. 

"Good shot," Arcade said, but now that the animal was dead, it didn't look like a deathclaw so much as… a mole rat.

Gunnar had already come around the hill. "The hell, Arcade!" he yelled. "You used the pulse grenades on a _mole rat?"_

There was no good way out of this. Arcade drew himself up to his full height, which let him look down just slightly on Boone. "I felt threatened."

Boone actually guffawed. Gunnar just looked like he didn't know whether to strangle Arcade or shoot him. Finally he just huffed and kept going on their original trajectory.

Boone shook his head, still grinning. 

~ ~ ~

_But I guess it broke the ice or something because Craig has been civil to Arcade ever since. Even if we ask Arcade all the time if he'd like to use more pulse grenades against mantises, geckos and other wildlife._

_On to Black Mountain. Right now @ El Dorado Substation & talking w/NCR on guard duty here. POWER TO THE PEOPLE haha. Don't know how we'll get up that mountain to the west but we will see. More later._

"I haven't seen anything like Brotherhood or even bodies yet," Boone said. 

"Me neither." They'd climbed high up Black Mountain, which was a large array of communications antennas and some tumbledown shacks. "D'you suppose — "

Something hit Gunnar with such violent force it spun him half around. He stumbled, dizzy, hearing gunfire and guttural roars.

"Where is it?" Arcade said. "I don't see it!"

No answer from Boone, but the noise stopped as Gunnar righted himself. Boone methodically reloaded his rifle, standing over the body of a Super Mutant. "I think we found what might've happened to that Brotherhood patrol," he said.

Gunnar looked at the body. "Wait a minute. I remember this — there were some of these over at Novac. This was before you and I really met," he said to Boone. "Remember? Invisible Commies or something like that?"

"Crazy No-Bark. Yeah, I remember him. Said it was invisible undead Commie ghosts… something like that."

"It was Super Mutants with Stealth Boys." That seemed like ages ago now. "Which if there's more than this one, I think you're right, and we aren't going to find that patrol in one piece."

~ ~ ~

In the shacks they found the usual detritus of people eking out a living after the apocalypse. The radio was on. Gunnar knew his Pipboy had a radio in it, but he had never played it, only used it that one time to pick up Private Halford's emergency communications, which implied the radio automatically alerted him to such. But for Radio New Vegas? No, he didn't listen. 

Most shops and homes had the radio on too, maybe to give them a sense of someone else being there when Mr. New Vegas talked. But Gunnar found it distracting, especially since Mr. New Vegas only had so many records these days. Not surprising that they'd be wearing out or breaking after so many years, even if you found more copies. 

So Gunnar preferred no radio, in general. But this one wasn't broadcasting Radio New Vegas. It sounded like a Super Mutant ranting some kind of manifesto. Next to the radio was a microphone. On terrible impulse he flicked it on. "Hello?"

Silence ensued, and his companions looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

Then the Super Mutant came back on the air. "Hey, you've interrupted my broadcast, dumb-dumb — so there had better be a good reason! What is it?"

"Aren't you the Super Mutant from the radio? I'm a huge fan." Gunnar looked up to see Arcade waving his arms in the universal "shut up!" signal.

"Why thank you! It's always gratifying to talk to one's fans. Hold on, I have something I need to do for a second."

Gunnar smiled to himself, pleased. It was always good to try talking to someone first. Then his face fell as the radio came back to life: "There's an intruder in the dish hut! Get over there and kill whoever it is, you fools!"

~ ~ ~

When the dust had settled, Arcade and Boone both chewed him out for calling Super Mutants down upon them. At least he'd given them a common interest, Gunnar thought, sulking.

" — And there's still at least one of them smart enough to use a radio setup," Arcade finished.

"Which is why I wanted to talk to them. If they're intelligent enough to communicate and use the equipment, and keep it going, then — "

"Arcade's right," Boone interrupted. "Now they know we're here and we'll have to be ready for them."

"They would've found us sooner or later anyway," Gunnar said. "And we still have to find that Brotherhood patrol. So let's get on with it."


	7. Was That the Human Thing to Do?

"What in the…"

The storage room was full of stuff on shelves, but the larger-than-life training dummy with the goofy face was what grabbed their attention first. It had a note pinned to it, and an arrow pointing to the note, just in case anyone hadn't noticed.

"What's it say?" Boone said, looking at the nearest shelf for anything lootable.

"To Whom It May Concern — You!," Gunnar read aloud. "'We got some pretty good stuff from the last raid and unlike last time, I don't want any incidents. The only logical conclusion was to hide everything throughout this room. If you can read this, you have my permission to use any items you can find.' Then there's a list of things and it's signed Your Benevolent Supreme Overlord, Tabitha."

"Tabitha the Super Mutant?" Arcade said. "She's intelligent enough to write properly. She's probably the one on the radio."

"That was a woman?" Gunnar asked.

"All Super Mutants sound like that. Something to do with their vocal cords, I expect. Why do you look so surprised?"

"I guess I never thought some of them might be women," Gunnar said.

Arcade shrugged. "Why wouldn't there be? They're mutated humans. Undoubtedly Tabitha was a normal human before… What?" Boone was looking at him strangely. "Of course we Followers would know about this, because it's not the Super Mutants' fault that this happened to them," Arcade said.

Gunnar took the list from the dummy and began looking around. If this wasn't carte blanche to pick up anything not nailed down, he didn't know what was.

In the back of the room he found a workbench with a strange robot lying inactive on it. "I saw one of these before," he said, calling his partners over. "They had some like this at REPCONN, didn't they?"

"It's a Mister Handy type robot," Arcade said. "The REPCONN Handys were janitorial models. Most of them were maintenance and service models, I think, but they're not common any more."

Gunnar popped open the small maintenance hatch and began poking about.

"These are left over from the old days," Boone said, resigning himself to a possible firefight if Gunnar activated the robot. "Why don't you remember them?"

"Because you didn't want one, you didn't — "

_"They're not natural. Not alive. I don't want one in our house."_

_"It's just a tool — "_

_"Tools don't move! Tools don't talk and follow people!"_

_"Gunnar, let it go. If he doesn't want one, we can do without. We all did before."_

_"Okay." It was true, after all —_

~ ~ ~

"Gunnar."

He was no longer at the workbench, but backed up against one of the shelves. He shook his head slightly to clear it. "I'm good."

"Gunnar, who are we?"

He looked at them. "You're Boone and Arcade. Unless you're some kind of androids that only look like people, here to mess with my head more than it already is."

They relaxed a little, exchanged looks, and Gunnar found himself unreasonably irritated by that. "What is it? Did something different happen this time?"

"You said — " Arcade began, but Boone was faster. "You said you didn't remember the robots because I didn't want one."

"Because — " The meaning of the words sank in. "I must have — the memories must be breaking through," Gunnar said. "More than just these… moments I have. One of them didn't want robots in the house. I must be, what's the word," what a time to forget, "something about you and he is similar, I guess?" He wanted to really curse right then, because if ever a time called for it this seemed to be one. But he didn't. "Look, I'm fine now," he said instead. "Let me get back to the robot."

"You just can't resist getting involved, can you?" Arcade said.

"He's been like this ever since I've known him," Boone said.

"Oh, really."

"Yeah. Wouldn't let me be miserable and look for excuses to go down fighting."

"Because that would be wrong," Gunnar said, flicking on his Pipboy light to get a better look inside the maintenance hatch on the back of the Mister Handy. "If someone needs help, I don't want to ignore them."

"You can't help the entire world," Arcade said, a little sadly. 

"Maybe not, but I can help those near me. And if I didn't want to do that, we wouldn't be here right now, would we? Someone hand me a tweezer. Craig might be dead and the Legion would certainly be stronger. Thanks." Gunnar took the tweezers and kept working.

"I suppose you're right, at that," Arcade said. "And I'd still be at the Old Mormon Fort, instead of wandering into dust storms and being taken prisoner and attacked by Super Mutants."

"You mean mole rats," Boone said.

Arcade didn't have time for a witty retort as Gunnar closed the maintenance panel and the Mister Handy came to life. Its hover engine sputtered, then hummed, and the robot lifted itself to vertical position. "Hello!" said the artificial, mechanical male voice. "Could you please direct me to Mistress Tabitha?"

"Uh…Sure, follow me." Now that the Mister Handy was up close with three flexible, tentacle-like arms, including one with a buzzsaw on the end, Gunnar had to admit that fixing the robot seemed a bad idea.

"Thank you very much." The Mister Handy actually had sort of an English-butler accent, Gunnar realized. He began walking toward the exit, hoping to at least get the thing outside before things went south. "My internal clock says it's been 6 years, 52 days, 40 minutes, and 13 seconds since I last spoke to her."

"Really? That long?" Gunnar opened the door and led the little parade outside.

"Indeed. I hope she hasn't gotten lonely."

Once outside, Gunnar made a pretense of looking around, even shading his eyes with one hand. "I know she's around someplace," he said clearly, nervous with that buzzsaw and other attachments close to his back. Boy, he'd stepped in it this time. "In fact — "

"Rhonda!"

Gunnar jumped at the grating roar, so close to them. The Super Mutant was very unlike the few others he'd seen so far, with a red throw used as a scarf around her neck, a blond wig in a flip hairdo, and oversized, red heart-shaped glasses with no lenses. In other respects she looked a lot like every other Super Mutant he'd yet encountered: huge, gray-skinned, bared teeth stained yellow, and in Tabitha's case carrying a massive sledgehammer as though it were light as an umbrella.

"Rhonda! You're back!" Tabitha roared again.

"It pleases me to see you, mistress," Rhonda said primly. "I owe my functional state to this human here."

Gunnar waved and forced a smile. He hoped Boone and Arcade weren't actually going to kill anyone right now, because he was too close to both of these things.

Things? Well, Rhonda was a thing, Rhonda was a robot, but — Tabitha, if she'd once been human, that meant she was still human. She wasn't a thing. She was a person, just… not like any he'd had long discussions with.

"I… don't know how to thank you for bringing Rhonda back to me, stranger," Tabitha said, in a quieter grate.

"It's my pleasure," Gunnar said. "I know how much it hurts when you miss someone. What will you do now?"

"I don't know… it's been so long since I lost Rhonda, that I'm not sure…" Tabitha sounded uncertain. But she spoke clearly enough. Gunnar couldn't blame her for getting angry about intruders in her home; that made complete sense in retrospect.

"Mistress Tabitha, we should be heading off," Rhonda said. "Our journey has been much delayed, but we can catch up if we hurry. Come along, now." It began trundling (however a hovering machine could) to the path down the mountain.

"Just a moment, Rhonda!" Tabitha called, then said to Gunnar, "Here, take this. I won't be needing it anymore." She handed him a key, so tiny in her hand, normal-sized in his. Then she turned and followed the robot. 

"I guess talking did work this time," Arcade said, as if to Boone.

Gunnar watched her go. He could still hear her talking to herself, as she probably had for the past several years, ever since Rhonda had broken down. "I don't even remember where we were going, but it'll be good to travel around with Rhonda again."

At last Arcade broke the silence. "That was unexpected."

"Glad to see your scientific brain is on top of things," Boone said. "Gunn?"

"She gave me a key," Gunnar said. He finally turned to look at the cluster of pre-war buildings, one of which was the storeroom they'd just found. "I guess let's look in the big one first. Seems more likely that anything from before the war would be in there, and that's where the Brotherhood might have gone."


	8. So Near and Yet So Far

They found no Brotherhood and not much in the way of salvage. Not even a sign that the Brotherhood had been there.

"So this has been a complete waste of our time," Boone sighed.

"Not entirely." Gunnar tested one of the old chairs, sat down and began to type at a terminal. "Tabitha got her friend back."

"Yeah. That was good of you. I hope it pays off."

"I'm sure it will." Gunnar got into the terminal entries.

_Hermes Communications, Inc.  
Black Mountain Submatrix  
System Online_

_Log 672 — October 21, 2077  
We've been picking up a lot of activity from China's satellite network. The tension is pretty high around here. Frank's been talking about securing a place in one of those Vaults for himself and his family, and when he didn't show up to work yesterday, I think we all knew where he went._

Gunnar didn't know if he should keep reading. The final days of the old world…

_Log 674 — October 23, 2077  
Oh my god. It's actually happening. We have reading across the board of launches happening everywhere. They must've thrown everything they had, and it looks like we didn't hold back either. The computer says we have 2 minutes until the first missile drops._

_Log 675 — October 30, 2077  
I can bsrely type. The mountian shielded us from the wost or the blasd but thr's too mucsd radiattttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt_

Gunnar shut it off. He shouldn't have kept reading.

He heard Arcade say his name, but what did it matter? What did any of this matter? All he could hope now was that they'd died a quick death.

What did it matter? Either way they'd be long dead, was the ‘how’ even important?

"The Brotherhood wasn't here," he said, and his voice sounded weird in his ears. "Let's look at that last building and be on our way."

Did it matter that he was still alive, and they weren't?

"What did you find?" Arcade said.

"Old records. I'm fine."

It mattered because he was still alive, he told himself. He doubted he'd been singled out for a special purpose; Gunnar had some faith in a higher power, though it was a lot harder to believe given what had happened to the world, but he didn't think he'd been chosen to be the new Savior of Mankind. He was just a man who'd woken up. The king under the mountain, he thought. Some king. 

But here he was, walking down the stairs and out of the old building to the smallest old building, and he had made a small difference in some people's lives, sure, but — he felt heartsick.

It wouldn't even matter if they skipped this building and kept going. It wasn't like they _needed_ to salvage everything they could carry. But the key worked here too, and he, Arcade and Boone went inside.

Another working terminal on a desk, a toy car, some random junk and another door, this one with a security terminal on it. Gunnar looked around with dull interest. _Too much radiation —_

"Hey." Boone's voice was quiet beside him. "It's gonna be okay. You want Arcade to do this one?" He nodded toward the terminal.

"Yeah. Sure." Gunnar picked up the toy car. It was battered with age, big pieces of paint gone from the pot-metal body, but the wheels still rolled. He set the car back down as Arcade sat at the desk.

~ ~ ~

Diary:  
 _  
Today was a rough day. Kind of unreal. Brought a bnot back to functionality and this super mutant Tabitha is friends with it and they left together. Which is good because I think without that robot she would've fought us._

_Then got into the other buildings. Sorry for all the scratchouts, not writing well today. Trying sdo hard to put it away and not feel and not doing very well._

_Found records from the day the bombvs fell. It hurts. just shows what kind of world I came from vs what kind of world I'm in now. No wonder peple here are so fatalistic. Depressed._

_Hard to remember that I need to keep going because I am making a differene even if sometimes it doesn't feel like it. so Arcade said I should write down those I've helped so I can look back at it._

_Tabitha & Rhonda  
Craig Boone  
the family I rescued from Cottonwood Cove  
The junkie and alkie for the Followers  
Cass (I hope she gets help for her drinking tho)  
Pvt Halford  
freeing those powder ganger slaves from the Legion  
the soldiers at Camp Forlorn Hope  
the miners at Sloan (did I write down what I did there? I don't remember but they have a pet mole rat and its leg was hurt and I helped it get better)  
Reseracher Keely in Vault 22  
The McBrides (stopped the raids on their livestock)  
the ghouls at the Repcon test site who took the rockets into space (I wonder whatever happened to their human follower)  
Goodsprings — fighting off the powder gangers  
Primm — same and getting them a sheriff  
the Misfits squad_

_that's all I can think of but everyone seems impressed. and it's more than I remembered at first. So I guess I'm doing all right there._

_Add to the list Raul Tejada. He's a ghoul who was held prisoner in the last building we checked. Now I'm glad we went there because otherwise he might have died in there. Tabitha was holding him as a repairman and machanicnv but he couldn't fix Rhonda. Raul is all right I guess. He was in Mexico City when the bombs dropped. He survived. It's weird because that means he and I are from the same time. But we aren't from the same place or culture, so it's like we're still from different planets. And he is definitely as oold as Mr. House and has all the experience and is kind of worn down like everyone else here._

_We're taking him with us to Novac so he has a safe place to stay and maybe move on from. I say he's all right "I guess" because maybe I could take his backhanded compliments a bit getter if I wasn't feeling down._

_Will write more tomorrow. Going to ask Raul anything else he knows about the war and wht happened affereward.  
_  
~ ~ ~

Boone hugged Gunnar close in the bedroll. "When we get back to Novac," he said, "we'll take it easy for a day, okay? Rest up. Read your books."

"Sure."

"Hey. Look at me." When Gunnar did so, Boone said, "I'm glad you lived. Stay alive for us."

That made Gunnar smile. "Okay. I'll do my best."

Nearby, Arcade watched them, then stifled an irritated sigh. _Thanks for leaving me with the ghoul, you two,_ he thought. At least here in the shelter he wouldn't freeze, but that was, if one pardoned the pun, cold comfort.


	9. Something's Gotta Give

They spent a day at Novac. Raul was sent on to New Vegas with a promise that he could stay at the Lucky 38 if he needed it, and Arcade and Gunnar worked on the Pipboy to try getting the computer messages through it instead of having to physically visit a place. 

"Obviously computers can send messages within the same building," Gunnar was telling Boone, as he and Arcade went through the book and magazine collection looking for anything that might help. "And messages must be getting through besides on the radio."

"I doubt it. NCR always used radio,” Boone said. “That's why you had to carry those codes to the different camps. How could a computer send messages? It needs wires."

"It's an interesting application, if we could make it work," Arcade said. "Imagine typing out your message and sending it directly to another computer miles away! Though I do suspect you'd need more wires."

"And let me guess, the factories that can make wires are long looted," Gunnar said, grimacing. "This world lost so much technology. You’ve lost the tools to make the tools to make the thing. To make good, reliable wires for high technology, you can't just heat up some metal over a really hot fire and… I don't even know how they made wire before factories," he admitted. 

"Don't know, or forgot?"

"Same thing at this point. Hey, what if we got the Pipboy to convert radio signals into text on the screen? Could we do that?"

Boone left them to their science party and went to the McBrides to trade for steaks, and talk with the visiting trader, too. 

~ ~ ~

"Any luck?"

"I got two steaks from the McBrides and the trader had some mutfruit. No medical anything. How's the great Pipboy experiment coming?"

"It's a bust." Gunnar threw up his hands. "Arcade pointed out that the Pipboy doesn't have a keyboard or any way for entering text back. So even if it could receive, it couldn't send."

"But mostly, there's no way to get a computer message sent without wires," Arcade said. "Maybe someday in the far future, if the world gets rebuilt."

 _"When_ the world gets rebuilt," Gunnar corrected. "So let's cook those steaks and get packed for tomorrow."

~ ~ ~

"I suppose you two will want the room to yourselves tonight?" Arcade asked, as they ate.

Gunnar paused. Boone answered. "Fine by me."

"Where'll you stay?" Gunnar asked.

"One of my friends in town."

"You have friends here?" Now Boone looked up.

"Well, sort of. An old family friend."

Oh, right, one of Arcade’s _people_. "Should we meet with this friend?" Gunnar wasn't sure how to go about the whole Enclave thing with Boone yet.

Arcade shook his head. "She's out of town right now, but I can stay at her place tonight. I know she won't mind."

Boone mulled this over while chewing another bite of steak. He swallowed and said, "Who is it?"

"Eh?"

"I lived here, remember? Maybe I know her."

Arcade looked nonplussed but recovered quickly. "Daisy Whitman."

"Huh. Okay." Boone returned to his food. Gunnar looked at both of them, but said nothing. If Daisy was out of town, they'd have to come back later anyway.

Wait… Gunnar stopped chewing. The only reason Arcade would suggest he stay out is if… oh.

"What happened? Food too spicy?" Boone said, looking at him. Gunnar had no trouble eating spicy food, most of the time.

"No, I, ah," Gunnar picked up a bottle of water and drank it.

"You're all red."

"Yeah, that's me, better red than shot in the — " Whatever possessed him to say that? It wasn't even the right phrase.

"Are you okay?" Now Boone looked concerned.

"Yes, yeah, I'm fine. Really. Just, ah," Gunnar coughed, "yeah, I'm fine."

When had Arcade known? No, he had to be guessing. They behaved themselves when on the road, the only time they'd done anything was back in Vegas. Which… had been a little while ago. 

Gunnar busied himself with the last bits of food on his plate. What was it they'd always said when he was growing up? Eat everything set before you, children are starving somewhere else. It hadn't made sense to him then. Now he understood it. It wasn't that those other children mattered. It was an older generation that mattered, the ones that went through hunger and deprivation, and learned never to turn down food.

And now here they were again, same situation, never leave food on your plate if you can help it, because you might not have enough at some other time. He had a feeling he was in better health here than in that past life, though; he would have taken cars or trains, not walked everywhere like he did now.

That reminded him of something. "Where are the horses?"

"The what?" They both looked up, in the same process of cleaning their plates as he was.

"Horses." They looked blankly back at him. "You know, big animals, you can ride them?"

"Don't think we have any of those around here," Boone said. "Never saw 'em in California, either."

"What do they look like?" Arcade asked.

Gunnar took his diary and sketched a horse on a blank page. "Like this." Then he drew in a roughly human figure for scale. "They weren't common before the war, not like they used to be, because everyone used to use cars and trucks. But some people still used them for riding, or farm work."

Arcade and Boone studied the drawing. "No," Arcade said, shaking his head. "Brahmin are for transport, and you can use the meat and leather, too, but I don't think I've ever seen someone ride one."

"Looks kinda spindly," Boone commented. "Like whoever fit into that old Vault 22 jumpsuit."

No horses. So they'd died out, at least here, and in California, and maybe farther afield; because horses had been a game-changer in war, thousands of years ago. The first people to ride horses could go farther, faster, and had the advantage of height in battle. All of this would be useful to Caesar, or the NCR, or just about anyone.

Therefore the lack of horses here must mean they'd died out in the bombing, or the radiation, or maybe disease or any number of possible things afterward. Even something as mundane as people and dogs and wildlife eating the horses would do it, if the numbers dropped low enough. No horses, and no wildlife capable of being ridden. Those brahmin were slow beasts, and the few bighorners tamed at Goodsprings were massive sheep, hardly capable of carrying riders in their current state.

Gunnar felt a little sad again for everything the world had lost.

_He loved riding; that's why all three of them could now ride, but he especially loved horses and dogs and was good with both. He was the one who could best survive, if there was any survival to be had._

_“It’s simple. You two will be the best equipped to survive.”_

_“How do you figure? Him I can see — he’ll survive in a barren wasteland, if anyone can — but me?”_

_“You’re a historian. Listen to me. You know what’s come before, you know human nature. You’ll be able to figure out what’s happened in the interim, and what needs to happen for things to change. You’re a historian and a scientist.”_

_“What about you? The world will need you too.”_

_“Not the same. I’m just a… diplomat. Self-taught in everything I do.”_

_“Teaching yourself is a skill unto itself.”_

_“And I still have work to do here. Maybe —_ maybe _— if I stay behind, I can stop this. There’s still that chance.”_

_“And if you do…”_

_“I’ll retrieve you.” A bitter laugh. “No question of that. If I survive, and I can have the loves of my life back? There’s no question. You won’t miss more than a few months. Weeks. Maybe days.”_

" — useful if we got notifications on it. But these came from Vaults. I don't know where we'd get another one."

Gunnar came back to himself lying on the bed. He blinked and looked around. Boone and Arcade were talking quietly, as though not to disturb him.

Another memory. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat up.

"You're better?" Arcade asked.

"Yeah." Yes and no. "At this rate I'll have the whole set of memories back soon." He felt shaky. Where was his diary? "There were three of us, me, and, and my partners, and one of them can survive in the wasteland, he's good with horses and dogs," it all came out in a rush. "And he was supposed to go in with me to the Vault, because he and I were supposed to, to, to put things back together afterward, when it was safe to come out again," even his voice shook now, "and the last one, the, the, he was going to try to stop the bombs, except he couldn't, because they still dropped, and — "

"You're getting hysterical. Calm down." Arcade's voice cut through, but Gunnar couldn't. That had been a long memory, a useful one, and yet — 

"Something must have happened," he rushed on. "Because he wouldn't have left me alone in the Vault." He shouldn't have. But… "He was supposed to go in with me. I wasn't supposed to go without one of them. We were, we…"

Arms around him, holding him tight and quelling the shakes. _He should have been there. Both should have been there._

"Do you remember any names? Places? Where the Vault was?" Arcade's flat, clinical tone didn't help.

"No. Not yet." Just that even before they'd gone in, one would be missing. And then another had gone missing.

"Calm down," Arcade said again, but how could he? Every time he righted himself, he got hit with another of these damn memories, if only they would just happen all at once and he could get it over with!

"This isn't even the first time," Gunnar said through the rising hysteria. "You know that, right? I just don't remember it from when I woke up!"

Arcade looked exasperated. "Stop letting it get to you."

"You think I enjoy this? You think I like it? Spacing out and dealing with it all over again, every single time, without warning?" Channel hysteria into anger, it might be more productive. 

But before he could really lash out — _Did you tell your mother to try not dying?_ — Boone spoke. "Tell me about the dog."

"What?"

"You said he was good with horses and dogs. Did you have a dog?"

"Oh. Yes, I… I think we did. He… he found a puppy. It was so small, its eyes weren't open yet." Gunnar grew calmer, remembering, and yet it was coming back so easily. "Something must have happened to the mother, he said, because she wouldn't abandon it."

"And you kept it?"

"Yeah." Gunnar thought he could see the tiny yellow furball now, in someone's hands. "She was a mutt, but she grew up fine."

"Did it have a name?"

"…Goldie?" Gunnar wasn't sure, but it might be that. Or it might not. "I don't know. I'm not sure."

"That would be the first name you remembered, if it's correct," Arcade said. 

Gunnar no longer shook in Boone's arms, but he felt weary, and not much like having a romantic evening. Which of course, one of the few times they might try, and look what happened. Stupid brain.

"Better now?" Boone asked.

"Yeah. Thanks." Gunnar leaned into him. If he could just stop these damn attacks. Either get all his memories back at once, or no more. Either one would be better than this. 

Arcade began gathering up his things. Gunnar felt a pang about that — he should stay — but that was his old life speaking. And after that little outburst, he couldn't blame Arcade for wanting to get away from this for a while.

"I think I'll change," Gunnar said, extricating himself from Boone's arms.

Given the stress of the evening, Gunnar was content to fall asleep next to Boone; but after some hours when he woke to Boone kissing his neck and his hands starting to roam, it felt good to indulge a little.


	10. Doin' What Comes Naturally

"I forgot to ask yesterday," Arcade said the next morning when they'd regrouped. "What's the receiving range on your Pipboy?"

Gunnar looked down at the device on his arm. "I'm not sure. I don't use it for that."

"Could you turn it on in different places, we could maybe see what its strength is? Radio New Vegas is nominally broadcast over the entire Mojave. If we check the strength of it in different locations, we could determine just what kind of reception it gets. I imagine none underground or in caves, for instance."

"Good thought." Gunnar handed over his diary so Arcade could start a ledger page, while he fiddled with the Pipboy's radio reception. 

_" — Me again, Mr. New Vegas, reminding you that you're nobody till somebody loves you. And that somebody is me. I love you."_

That sounded familiar, Gunnar thought, but he couldn't quite place it.

_"Whoops, better put on my newsman fedora, here. A big congratulations to a young band of soldiers who shattered NCR records on a combat readiness evaluation at Camp Golf. Go get 'em, guys! Also in the headlines, listeners have been unable to pick up radio broadcasts from Black Mountain recently. Most are calling the static, quote, a welcome improvement."_

"So you're making the news, just not by name," Arcade said cheerfully. "Anything else?"

Gunnar circled the band and found some faint signals. Arcade noted the frequency. "We'll check again when we stop somewhere else. It might be worth it in the future."

"Maybe." Gunnar kept going, and ended up back at Radio New Vegas.

_"The influx of displaced residents to the refugee camp at Bitter Springs has caused a strain on rations there. NCR officials are asking for donations. That's the news. This is Mr. New Vegas, filling in for Mr. New Vegas."_

Refugees at Bitter Springs again… Gunnar thought of all the stuff he'd stockpiled here and elsewhere, food and drink and even medical supplies. Sure, it was for his eventual use, but… 

"Gunn. You want to do something about that, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do."

"We've already got so much to do," Arcade pointed out. 

"That too. But I've got all this stuff, and if people need it — "

"We'll take it," Boone said. "Let's see what you've got stored away."

~ ~ ~

"I thought you'd want to help people in need," Boone said to Arcade as they approached Bitter Springs.

"I do. But the number of people we have to see isn't getting any smaller, and Caesar won't wait forever."

Privately, Gunnar knew Arcade was right, but he also knew he would feel guilty about this until he did something about it. And Boone? Probably still atoning for what he'd done. 

The commander of Bitter Springs, a harried young captain named Gilles, was grateful for the food and medical supplies. "You could see our medic, too, and ask if he needs more specific items," she suggested. "Who do we have to thank for this?"

"I heard on the radio that you needed donations," Gunnar said.

"But you're Gunner Volk, right? Working for Mr. House?"

"I do have Mr. House's ear, but these are from me," Gunnar said, not worrying about how she said his name.

"That's just amazing. Thank you. I don't have much for a reward —"

"I don't need one. Just keep everyone safe, healthy and fed and that's good enough for me," Gunnar smiled.

"You're a saint, sir. I don't suppose you can get me some extra troops, too?"

"I don't know that I have that much pull, but I can ask." Like they'd listen to a civilian, but it was worth a try.

"Great. You're making a real difference, Mr. Volk." 

"Where are these people coming from?" Gunnar looked at the refugees: a lot of women and kids, some families.

"They're fleeing the Legion. Caesar's troops make inroads — you saw that with the recent attack on the refugee camp here — and people are trying to flee west already. If they can get across the river, they figure they're safe, but the Legion can get across too."

Gunnar wondered again if a raid into Legion territory would do anything more than poke an already angry beast. Besides, he really did already have so much to do… and he'd just added to it by volunteering to find troops for Bitter Springs.

~ ~ ~

Camp McCarran said they'd send some troops if he could take care of a sniper problem. Done.

Camp Golf was still happy with him about the Misfits, and said they'd be glad to send some troops that way. "I heard there's some spare troops down by Searchlight, too."

At Searchlight, Sgt. Astor remembered Gunnar and Boone. "Making up a squad of your own, are you?" he asked.

"You might say that. I heard you might be able to move some troops up to Bitter Springs. Is that possible?" Gunnar asked.

"I can't do that, not with half my soldiers reassigned to Forlorn Hope. You might try to get them out of there. But if you can do a favor for me, I'll write something up for you to take to Forlorn Hope. The commander there might look more kindly on your request."

~ ~ ~

"Round and round the mesquite bush," Arcade sighed when Gunnar explained the situation. "So what now?"

"We'll do the favor and then get back to work. I really don't want to go to Forlorn Hope." Not after how he and Boone left last time, and it wasn't that long ago.

"And the favor?"

"Get the dog tags of the soldiers killed by the bomb in town." Gunnar looked over the town. Most of the buildings were boarded up.

"The whole town's radioactive," Boone said flatly. "You dragged my ass out of there the last time we passed through. Remember?"

"Yeah, I remember." 

"You really want to drink some more of Cass' purgative, don't you." 

"No, I don't. But we can borrow some radiation suits, and I've got some Radex left."

"I'm all for helping out Bitter Springs and, eventually, getting around to negotiating with the different tribes," Arcade said. "But is this really a necessary side trip?"

Technically… no. It wasn't. They didn't _have_ to go after those dog tags, which would be turned in, and then the families and loved ones would get notifications and closure, instead of wondering whatever happened to their men and women in uniform. It wasn't _necessary_ to do this to save the world.

But.

"In the suits, it'll take us only an hour, maybe," Gunnar estimated. 

"Take you and Boone an hour, you mean," Arcade said. "If it's standard helmets, they fit too close to the head. I can't wear my glasses under the helmet."

"Okay, maybe a little more than an hour," Gunnar said. "Boone? What's your thought?"

"Let's get the dog tags and go. The soldiers deserve that much."


	11. It Could Happen to You

Clad in radiation suits, Boone and Gunnar went through the streets of Searchlight. The Pipboy's geiger counter still crackled; Gunnar hoped the suits and Radex would be enough. Arcade stayed at the NCR camp at the edge of town; without his glasses he would be more a liability than a help.

An unexpected problem with getting the dog tags was that most of them were still carried by their owners, who were now feral ghouls. "What's the difference?" Gunnar asked, after they'd put down the third one. "I've spoken with ghouls, and Raul, but some of them are just crazed."

"It's the amount of radiation. Too much and they go feral, they lose their minds, permanently." 

"Wouldn't that mean all ghouls would eventually go feral?" Gunnar went forward and looked around a corner. Looked clear.

"I suppose. There's still a lot of radiation in places. Like here."

"If you've grown up with all this radiation, for a few generations, I suppose most people alive today are at least somewhat radiation-tolerant." Gunnar wished he had better peripheral vision in this helmet. For that matter, the radiation suits seemed to work okay against that danger, but they weren't armor in the least. Feral ghouls were fast, vicious and liked to go for the throat, in his recent experience.

"Maybe. Everyone says that becoming a ghoul is worse than death, though. You lose your skin, your voice, your face, bits of you start rotting off… and if you keep getting irradiated, you go feral. You lose your mind and become a danger to everyone."

"But before they go feral, they're still people, right? There were ghouls working for the NCR at Camp Echo."

"Yeah. But they still make people uneasy."

"This door's open." Gunnar nudged it open with his shotgun barrel. "Hello? Anyone home?"

"I can't believe you," Boone muttered.

"Who is it?" a raspy, ghoulish voice answered.

"Candygram." Gunnar eased the door open. "We come in peace."

"If you say so."

Gunnar entered to come face to face with an NCR trooper, sitting on the old couch and eating from a can of peas. Not just ghoulified, but forced to eat canned peas, Gunnar thought. "I'm Gunnar Volk, of New Vegas. This is Boone, formerly of First Recon. Are you from Camp Searchlight?"

"Was," the ghoul rasped. "Private Kyle Edwards, until that damn Legion bomb went off. What's it to you?"

"We're looking for any NCR troopers in the area," Gunnar improvised. "Are you hurt?"

Edwards laughed like a gagging dog. "I became this. What do you think?"

"If you're not hurt, why are you still here?"

"I don't want to go feral. I saw what happened to the others."

"But you're a soldier."

"I don't know how the NCR feels about ghoul soldiers."

Gunnar thought they'd be the same as before, except with more grotesquerie, but the feral thing did worry people.

Boone spoke first. "There's a Ranger station, Camp Echo, with ghouls serving there. They could probably take you in and let you keep serving there."

"You think so?"

"We've been there. I've seen it myself."

It was a funny thing how the world had gone back to relying on one's word for proof, Gunnar thought. For thousands of years, a man's word was his bond. If you became known for lying or breaking promises or oaths, you couldn't be trusted at all. And now, here it was again. You had to be a good judge of character, and trust that everyone else played by the same rules. 

It probably helped here that Boone was former NCR, though. 

"I'll give it a try," Edwards said. "It beats being trapped in here while the food runs out." 

They got Edwards to the edge of town, then went back to finish the search.

"I remember there were ghouls here before," Gunnar said. "I thought only certain people could become ghouls. It's random, isn't it?"

"I suppose. I don't really know. You'd have to ask Arcade about that —"

It had been a long time since Gunnar had stepped into a trap. He later blamed it on the helmet's lack of all-around vision, but at this moment his leg was caught fast in a snare.

That was when the ambush hit. 

Gunnar fired both barrels, blowing a hole in the ghoul nearest him, but he couldn't make any evasive maneuvers of his own with his leg in a snare. He could hear Boone cursing and firing behind him. Gunnar drew the Duzi and emptied all five shots. At least some of them hit, slowing down the next ghoul and giving Gunnar time to reload.

"Dammit!"

Boone's voice sounded different, less muffled, and Gunnar finished off the ghoul attacking him to turn and see Boone helmetless and fighting off three ghouls at once. They'd closed fast and he barely had room to swing his rifle.

Gunnar took hold of the Magnum with both hands to steady himself and fired. The first shot took a ghoul's head clean off, though he could dimly hear in his brain _too high! aim for center of mass!_

Boone slammed the butt of his rifle into the chest of the second, knocking it down and away. Something looked wrong about the third, very pale for a ghoul, but Gunnar sighted anyway. The ghoul moved too fast for him to get a good line of fire, and he couldn't risk hitting Boone. Gunnar switched targets to the second ghoul, getting up from the ground. Three shots and it dropped.

Boone and the pale ghoul were now locked in struggle, and Boone headbutted it. The ghoul's head snapped back as though on a rubber stand. Gunnar tried to run forward, and nearly fell as the snare yanked him back. 

He didn't have time to deal with the snare. Gunnar took aim at the center of mass on the ghoul — why were ghouls so damn skinny, probably because they'd lost everything to radiation — and fired, as the ghoul gave off a burst of blue-white light. Gunnar's vision went black. Had he gone blind? No, now the helmet was clearing — must be some kind of polarization protection, something — and the ghoul was still upright, so Gunnar fired his last two shots.

The ghoul dropped, and Gunnar looked to Boone. The sniper was bent over, vomiting.

"Boone!" Gunnar set down the Duzi so he could get the snare off his leg. His gloved fingers struggled with the wire before he managed it, and then he ran to Boone. 

"Craig! Get your — " Gunnar looked for the helmet. It had been torn loose from the suit, and the visor cracked and broke when it hit a concrete block. 

He picked it up anyway. "C'mon, Craig. Let's run for it. You can do it." He pulled Boone by the arm, dragging him, suddenly aware of the harsh staccato clicking of the Pipboy. "Back to the camp, and we'll get you taken care of."


	12. Who's Sorry Now

"Arcade!"

The doctor sat at the old picnic table where Sgt. Astor and his troopers had their camp. He looked up from a book, then scrambled to his feet.

"Where is everyone?" Gunnar said, still dragging Boone bodily. Boone's stomach was past empty, but the retching continued.

"They're all out on patrol. What happened to his suit?" Arcade got an arm around Boone to help carry-drag him to the camp.

"Ghouls, but that's not important, he's radsick."

"I hope we have enough medicine," Arcade muttered. "Come on, soldier boy."

They lay Boone down on an old mattress. He seemed barely aware of them. Arcade got a pack of Radaway and a clean syringe. "How'd it happen?"

Gunnar opened the visor so he could speak and hear clearly. "We fought a pack of ghouls. One of them sort of exploded — there was this bright light, and — "

"A glowing ghoul," Arcade said. "Uncover his arm so I can inject this. Glowing ghouls can give bursts of radiation. It's why they glow, especially at night. Was his suit already breached?"

"Yeah, they swarmed him and tore the helmet loose." Gunnar unzipped Boone's suit and pulled his arm out of the sleeve. "Craig, stay with us. You're going to be okay."

"If you were close enough, you probably took a good dose yourself," Arcade continued. "But the suit kept out the worst of it. Get that purgative and see how much we have left."

Gunnar did so. The bottle was more empty than he remembered. Still, any dose could help. 

"That's all?" Arcade glanced at the liquid level in the bottle. "Let's hope it and the Radaway help."

"He's not going to die, is he?" Gunnar didn't look at Boone's arm, where Arcade now bandaged the injection site.

"No, but he took a massive dose all at once. If we don't have enough then we'll have to get him to the nearest medical help we can manage."

"Maybe this camp has some?"

"Nobody's here to authorize it, and I suspect they'd consider it theft, even for a good cause. That's assuming they have any, you know. They live and work right next to this place. I bet they're even more strapped for Radex and Radaway than we are."

"Then — " Gunnar checked his Pipboy map. "Looks like the closest place that might is Ranger Station Echo, but — "

"But what?" Arcade finished stripping the ruined radiation suit from Boone's body. Boone had stopped retching and was now just sick, from the look of it. "Boone, you think you can try some purgative? Guaranteed to put hair on your chest."

"Echo's slightly radioactive. It's why they've got actual ghoul troopers there."

"Hardly the place we want to take him, then. Help him sit up, so we can get this into him."

Boone coughed and gagged and nearly threw up again, but most of it got in him and stayed down. He looked terrible, pale as death, red-eyed and white-lipped.

"We might want to get him somewhere outside of camp," Gunnar said, remembering his own experience with the purgative.

"Anything labeled 'purgative' has to be nasty, I already guessed."

"On your feet, soldier," Gunnar said, and together he and Arcade staggered Boone to a rock overlook just past the edge of camp.

"Can you keep an eye on him?" Arcade asked. "I'll get some water. He's already dehydrated, and this will probably make it worse."

~ ~ ~

When Sgt. Astor and his troops returned from patrol, Boone was awake and could walk under his own power, though not for long and not quickly. Arcade and Gunnar had agreed to wait until Astor returned, so they could bargain for any Radaway. But the little NCR squad had none left either. Gunnar turned over the dog tags they'd found and went to talk to his companions.

"If we can't go to Echo, where can we go?" Arcade asked.

"Charlie's practically to Novac, but we already know Novac didn't have anything extra when we were there, and the medic there is… well, I'd worry," Gunnar said. "And Charlie doesn't have a medic or a doctor. If they don't have any Radaway we've gone a long way for nothing."

"Let's see the map." The Pipboy screen wasn't large, and they had to scroll around quite a bit to get a better idea of the area. "I think we should invest in a good piece of leather and some ink and make our own map after this," Arcade said. "I assume you know how to do that?"

"I don't think so," Gunnar said. "But the principle is sound. We need — "

"I was being facetious, but if you can do it in your copious spare time, it might help."

"Remind me to insult you later when Boone's health isn't at stake," Gunnar said, but he was smiling, and so was Arcade, the latter more of a smirk, but the sentiment was still there. "We can't go east, that's all Legion. We could go all the way west to Mojave Outpost or Primm, or north to Helios or Forlorn Hope."

"Don't we have to go to Hope anyway?"

"…Yeah, sorta." Gunnar bit his lower lip. "That makes it pretty clear to me. If Boone can move, we've got to go north. If we meet any traders along the way, we get more Radaway or stuff to make the purgative."

"What does that require?"

"The most expensive ingredient is vodka. I can collect everything else on the way."

~ ~ ~

It was a slow trek north. Boone could walk, slowly, and needed stops for rest. Arcade chivvied him on, worried about permanent damage if this wasn't fixed soon. 

"It's one reason for my research," he went on. "There's only so much Radaway left in the world. When it's all gone, we'd better have something to replace it. Radiation isn't going away."

"I gave you the purgative recipe," Gunnar offered.

"It's a start, and I did thank you for it. Vodka is usually pre-war. Is there a reason for it as opposed to other types of alcohol?"

"I don't know. Only that's how it was taught to me."

"It's something that should be tested. If we could use other alcohols, or modern ones like corn beer or agave, we can expand the manufacture significantly."

Boone said something. 

"What's that?" Gunnar bent close to listen.

"… If I survive this," Boone started, then had to take some more water. His voice was rough after all he'd been through. "Learn how to say no sometimes." 

Gunnar colored. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I should've done that." It wasn't like he didn't have plenty to do already. "We'll get you fixed up, and then back to what needs to get done."


	13. Why Don't You Do Right?

"You came back," said the gate guard at Camp Forlorn Hope.

"It's good to be back!" Gunnar said, smiling brightly. He wanted to say "don't start" instead, but best to be cheerful and friendly and not cause trouble. Arcade looked at him with a questioning expression, and Gunnar realized he'd never told Arcade why he and Boone didn't want to come back here.

"Got a sick man," he added. He and Arcade had helped Boone climb the trail to get here. "So we'll take him right to Dr. Richards."

~ ~ ~

Dr. Richards' demeanor was cool, to put it politely. "And what brings you back to our happy camp?" he asked Gunnar.

"Radsickness." Gunnar gestured sideways with his head to indicate Boone, who was clearly flagging. "We came all the way from Searchlight, after we ran out of our own supplies. I know you can treat this."

"I can treat radsickness," Richards confirmed. He looked for a moment at Arcade, supporting Boone on the other side. 

"Dr. Richards, Alex, I know we parted on bad terms, but — "

"But I'm still a doctor and I'm still here to patch up the wounded," Richards finished. "I'll take care of your jealous boyfriend. And I don't mean anything sinister by that, either."

This time, Gunnar did mouth "don't start" toward Arcade, whose eyebrows were arched high enough to walk under.

Boone lay down on one of the spare cots and Dr. Richards began his work. "How many rads has he taken?"

"He got a glowing ghoul flash right in the face," Arcade said. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Dr. Alex Richards, chief and only doctor at this camp."

"Dr. Arcade Gannon, Followers of the Apocalypse."

Lots of doctors in this tent, Gunnar thought, remembering that he was one, too. Just… "not a medical doctor." Why did that keep ringing in his head? He must have had to say it a lot in his former life.

At least Alex and Arcade were getting along well, talking about the case and what needed to be done. That left Gunnar with paying the bill, and while he didn't expect Richards would hold it over his head, it wouldn't hurt to sweeten the deal with some extra stuff. 

They didn't need money here so much as supplies. But Gunnar had donated most of his to Bitter Springs. What else did he have…

"I hear Mr. House has gone quiet up in Vegas," Dr. Richards was saying. "I don't suppose any of you would know anything about that? Seeing as I hear you're his protégé now, Mr. Gunner Volk." 

"I suppose we'd better get back to Vegas as soon as possible, to look into it," Gunnar said. The double insult stung. Alex knew very well how to say Gunnar's name, even if he had no way of knowing that he was Doctor, not Mister. "What will this cost, Dr. Richards?"

"I don't suppose you have any medical supplies to trade?"

"No, I don't. I have caps and food."

"Our last dinner gave me indigestion. Let's stick with caps. Four hundred."

That was high, but Gunnar paid it to put the matter to rest. 

Dr. Richards finished his work. Boone already looked better, despite being hooked up by tube to a machine.

"He’ll be dehydrated, which I'm sure you know, Dr. Gannon, so after the machine shuts off, he can be disconnected and allowed to drink and rest." Richards wiped his hands on a clean rag. "He had a fairly high level of rads in his system. Hasn't been purged in a while."

"Good to know. I'll keep that in mind," Arcade said smoothly. "Thanks for all your assistance, Doctor."

~ ~ ~

"Want to tell me what happened, or will I hear it through the jays’ chatter?" Arcade asked, as he and Gunnar walked toward the edge of camp, looking for a place to stay the night.

"I suppose I'd better tell you our side? Fine. Boone and I made a disturbance when we were last here. We were invited to go somewhere else." 

"A disturbance? You? But you're so nice and good-natured, you get along with everyone," Arcade said, feigning innocence. "Now, Boone, some people might find him disturbing." 

"Can the balloon juice, Arcade."

"Don't try distracting me with your ancient jargon, Vault Dweller. What really happened?"

Gunnar waited until they were safely, he hoped, out of earshot. Even if the troops here knew anyway. "Boone and I… Weren't talking at the time, Alex invited me to dinner, we started making out, Boone broke in like a maniac, there was a lot of yelling." Since they weren't going to be able to get a tent tonight, he decided this spot would do as well as any to make camp, and stopped to roll out his bedroll.

Arcade rested his chin in his hand. "Would Boone's story be different?"

Gunnar shrugged.

"I can see how that might be a disturbance. And afterward you two made up and all was well?"

"No, it wasn't, and no, we didn't. Look, it's not something I was proud of, and we still had to work through a lot." Gunnar tried to shape his pack into something resembling a pillow, or at least a tolerable head support. "So that's what happened, and that's why I didn't want to come back here." Gunnar tested the makeshift pillow, lying down. It wasn't even close to bedtime, but he didn't care. He folded his hands behind his head and stared up at the dusty blue sky. 

"Now I know," Arcade said softly. "And here I thought maybe he was an ex."

Gunnar laughed. "We never got that far. It was one — you know, I still can't think of the word? When you dress up nice and look your best for someone."

"Romantically? You mean a date?"

"Yes! That's it. I can't believe I couldn't remember the word. But it was just the one date. He invited me to dinner. I only accepted because I thought — well." Best to get it all out. "Boone had said some things that I heard as, he wasn't interested, never was, never would be, get out of my sight."

"Sounds pretty certain to me."

"It did to me too. So when Alex, Dr. Richards, asked me to dinner, I figured, why not? At least he was interested in me."

Arcade shook his head. "That's a terrible reason, Dr. Volk, and you know it."

"Yeah, I know…" Gunnar exhaled noisily. "I don't like being lonely. Or alone."

"You shouldn't stay with someone just for that reason, either."

Gunnar turned his head to face Arcade. "What are you trying to say?" 

Arcade shifted to find a more comfortable seat on the old mattress. "Just because he reminds you of one of your late partners doesn't — "

"It isn't that, Arcade." Gunnar resumed watching the sky. "I don't even remember their names. Or their faces. And I know neither of them was possessive like he is. I like to think I'm straightening him out on that. But there's something about him that's similar. You, too."

About to speak, Arcade suddenly closed his mouth.

Gunnar gave him a rueful smile. "I shouldn't have said that, huh? I wasn't thinking. Sorry."

"No, no, it's fine. It's not everyday I'm told I remind someone of their long-lost lover." Arcade ran a finger around his collar to loosen it. 

"Sorry," Gunnar said again.

"I said it's fine."

Neither spoke for a while.

At length, Gunnar sat up. "Arcade, look. I," he paused, then continued, "I won't bring it up again. Consider it forgotten. I guess I should go talk to the Captain about transferring troops to Bitter Springs."

"What? No, wait."

"Why? We're here, I was asked to come here and request troops — "

"No, not that. You can't just bring up something like that and then say ‘consider it forgotten’."

Had he committed some major faux pas? Arcade looked downright concerned. Gunnar shrugged. "You're right, but I can hardly take it back now."

"That's not — "

"Excuse me." It was one of the soldiers, standing a little way off. "Mr. Volk, the captain would like to speak with you."

"Of course." Gunnar got to his feet and brushed himself off. "I'll be back soon," he told Arcade, and left.


	14. It Worries Me

Boone lay on a cot in the medical tent and waited for the machine to finish its work. Sure, he'd been on one of these things before, once, when he'd still been a soldier. It didn't bother him. It annoyed him that this smartass doctor enjoyed his power over them too damn much, but Gunn had kept his cool. As soon as Boone could walk away from here, they'd leave. 

He looked around with slitted eyes, guessing nobody would suspect he was awake, and watched the doctor and the other soldiers. What the hell had Gunn ever seen in him? Eh, Gunn had been on the rebound, that was all, susceptible to pretty words.

He was still pissed about the whole "let's poke around in a hot zone" thing, but Gunn already felt bad enough about it. Better to just get back to work, as they'd already said. And there was that thing about Mr. House… if people had noticed Mr. House wasn't talking any more, Gunn had better show up and throw his weight around. 

Damn, he was thirsty. Wasn't going to ask the doctor though. He'd probably charge Boone for the water.

Speak of the devil and he arrives. Dr. Richards came to check on Boone. "Just about done," he said. "And I know you're awake."

Boone opened his eyes the rest of the way. "Fine."

"Drink this." Richards handed him a bottle of water. Boone hesitated, then took it. "I meant it when I said nothing sinister would happen," Richards added. "I am still a doctor."

"Why'd you overcharge him, then?" Boone uncapped the bottle and drank half of it.

"Because I need the money to get more supplies up here, and prices are up. With the war coming, everyone's collecting stimpacks and other goods. I need them here and now to take care of the men that need medical attention. If he's really working for Mr. House, he has the money." Richards looked down at Boone. "Satisfied?"

It sounded plausible, and might even be true. "Whatever." Boone drank the other half of the bottle.

"And you're done." Richards disconnected him from the machine, swabbed his arm with disinfectant and put a bandage on it. "As soon as you're steady enough, you can go, but you might still want to wait a few minutes first."

Boone sat up and waited for the dizziness to pass. Dizzy, okay, but that made sense. He'd been sick. Overall he felt a hell of a lot better. Now to catch up with the other two and get going.

~ ~ ~

Boone found Arcade refilling water bottles from the camp spring. "Where's Gunn?"

"Nice to see you up again, too. Are you sure you should be up?"

Arcade handed Boone one of the bottles, which Boone drained at one go.

"Keep drinking, as long as we're here. Gunnar's with the captain."

"Probably getting told not to cause trouble again," Boone said, and traded his empty bottle for a freshly filled one. 

Arcade gave him a sideways glance, which he didn't notice.

"Soon as he gets back, we'll get out of here," Boone went on. He drank this bottle more slowly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to." 

"You've been sick," Arcade pointed out.

"And I think we should get back to Vegas and find out what's going on there. I can rest fine in the Lucky 38 while you and Gunn talk to people."

"Boone. It's at least two days back. You've been radsick longer than that, and you still look pale as a corpse. If you won't listen to Dr. Richards, listen to me. You need a couple of good meals and a night's sleep." Arcade looked pointedly at him. "Or do I have to get Gunnar to say it, for you to listen?"

"Fine," Boone growled. "One night, since we're already here." He glowered at a private who came to get a bucket of water and looked curiously at them. 

"What are you trying to prove?" Arcade hissed. "Is this some sniper thing? Best of the best, made of stone?"

"Shut up," Boone growled.

"No. Is this jealousy? If he succeeds, he'll deal with the Mojave full time. He won't have time to deal with you snarling at everyone who comes near him." 

"I said shut up," Boone said.

"Don't talk to him like that." 

They both turned to see Gunnar standing a little distance behind them. He looked at them both with a troubled expression. "Craig, you shouldn't be out of bed yet." 

"The doctor said —" 

"I don't care what Richards said, you two don't like each other and I'm sure he'd rather be rid of you too. Our beds are over there," he pointed, "Now get over there and lie down and no back talk. Arcade. Finish the water and see if you can buy or trade for some organ meat, especially heart or liver."

At first it looked like Boone would argue, but he stood and walked where Gunnar had gestured. Arcade got back to his work, and when he filled the last bottle and looked for Gunnar, the latter was also gone. 

Arcade returned to their site with some organ meats, not the freshest from what he could tell, but still safe to eat. "Where's Gunnar?"

Boone, sleeping until then, sat up and looked around. "He's not with you?"

"No, I thought he was with you." The ashes had gone cold. Arcade put together kindling to start a new fire.

Boone began to get to his feet. 

"Sit down. He's survived a lot before you and I showed up. If he needs his space, let him." Arcade blew on the tiny spark, which grew stronger in the kindling.

Boone sat down again. "This isn't 'some sniper thing'," he muttered.

"Glad to hear it. This meat is meant for you, I think. Better sharpen your knife."

~ ~ ~ 

When Gunnar hadn't returned by dark, Arcade visited the camp gates to ask if he'd passed this way.

"Said he had some work to do and he'd be back," the guard said. She side-eyed Arcade. "Hope you boys don't get in trouble again like last time."

"That wasn't me," Arcade said, nettled at the guilt by association. "What kind of work?"

She shrugged. "He didn't tell me, sir. He's the one employed by Mr. House."

Which was a nice cover story, but what was going on? Still, Gunnar had left a message for them: he intended to return. Maybe Boone would calm down, but probably not.

~ ~ ~

"He what?!"

"Boone, you don't own him. It's not like you're married. He can leave if he wants to."

That seemed to set Boone off worse, but he caught himself before making enough noise for the whole camp to hear. "What if something happens to him?" he hissed instead.

"He's tough. I saw those scars, and he's been through plenty. I think he'll come back." Mostly because Arcade was getting tired of Boone's attitude, and it was easier to say this than to admit his own concerns.

"You don't understand, Gannon. He trusts too much. Someone could take advantage of him because of that."

"Like you thought Dr. Richards was?" Oops. Shouldn't have said that.

Boone's eyes narrowed. Arcade would've preferred if the sniper wasn't so suddenly, menacingly still. "Where'd you hear about that?"

 _Evade! Evade!_ "You mean, about how you two got thrown out last time?" _Don't say any more!_

"That doctor was going to — " Boone stopped short. 

"He's a grown man, Boone, he can take care of himself."

"Carla could take care of herself, too, and she's still dead!"

Carla? This was getting messy. "Who was Carla?" Arcade asked.

"My wife." Boone took up his already-sharp knife and began to sharpen it again. "Someone we trusted sold her to the Legion."

"I'm sorry." Arcade really was. "Gunnar knows?"

"That. How she died. Who sold her."

No, Boone wasn't married to Gunnar, but the parallels were becoming all too clear.

"She was a sniper?" Arcade asked, despite himself.

Boone shook his head. "We met on the Strip, when I was on leave. She was beautiful. Like no one I'd ever seen before." His hands stilled. "She didn't take any crap from anyone, either. She tended bar at one of the casinos there, and knew how to deal with shitheads who caused trouble. 

"After we married, we moved to Novac. No work for her there. Not much to do. Quiet town. But she didn't have to always be on guard against drunks and people looking for a quick few bucks to rob, or a girl to rape. So it seemed like a fair trade. Especially later."

Yes, the pieces made an unpleasant picture. Boone couldn't trust people after what happened to his wife, and Gunnar was the most trusting person Arcade had ever met in the Mojave. These two really needed to talk things out. 

"Thank you for telling me," Arcade said. 

"He never asked much about her, once he knew what happened," Boone went on, more quietly. "So I don't ask about them."

Arcade moved to sit next to Boone. "He'll come back," he said. "Then we'll get out of here and settle things."

He hoped it was true. 

~ ~ ~

The night wore on, and grew cold.


	15. Have a Little Faith in Me

Decanus Silvio blew sharply on his pre-war whistle, one long blast, two short. They broke off the chase and returned to him, kneeling briefly before awaiting new orders. 

"Decanus!" his subordinate, Marcus, said. "What is it? We were nearly upon him!"

Silvio knew their eagerness to prove themselves, that they would be the ones to take Gunnar Volk down and bring back his head to Caesar. He wanted that glory, too. Volk had betrayed Caesar and defeated every assassin sent after him. But this… 

Silvio brandished the leather message pouch Volk had dropped during the chase. "You see this? Did you see how he tried to retrieve it?"

"I did. It cost him," Marcus said. "And gave us time to catch up with him."

"Why would he try to retrieve just a bag? You saw he tried to drive us off from it."

"I see. You think there's something important in it?"

"I know there is." Silvio pulled a creased paper from the pouch. "His communications to his master, Mr. House."

Marcus frowned. "You read it?"

"I did. It's vital that this information get to Caesar at once. Volk may try to retrieve it, or he may keep running."

"I see. I volunteer to continue the hunt, Decanus."

"Take the two most likely hunters with you. He's alone now but we don't know for how long. I'll take the other with me, in case he doubles back. Vincit qui patitur."

They saluted, and with minutes, the squad separated and traveled in different directions. 

~ ~ ~

Gunnar returned to Camp Forlorn Hope an hour after dawn, footsore and carrying three Legion machetes. His arrival created quite a stir.

Boone had slept hard once Arcade had finally convinced him to do so, and Arcade himself had stayed up to worry in Boone's place, so neither was awake when Gunnar returned. 

"I leave for one night and you two decide to sleep in."

Boone woke immediately and scrambled up. "What — you're back!"

Gunnar was a mess, covered in trail dust, his lip split and scabbed, and blood on his clothes, but he was smiling with the uninjured half of his mouth.

Arcade woke in time to see Boone pick Gunnar up in a bear hug that took the redhead off his feet. 

"What happened to you?" Boone asked after setting a laughing Gunnar down again. "You're hurt."

"This is the worst of it," Gunnar said, gently touching his lip. "You should see the other guy. Guys. I was very disarming." He began to laugh, stopped and winced as it pulled again at his lip.

"Who was it? I'll kill him."

"No need. I already did. And his two friends. I left their machetes outside the Captain’s tent, you can see them if you want." Gunnar touched his lip again.

Boone looked hard at him. "Who was it."

"Legion. Don't worry, it's taken care of. Arcade?"

"Yes?"

Gunnar wrapped his arms around the Follower. "Good to see you again, too."

Arcade didn't look at Boone. This was —

"I need to get cleaned up," Gunnar said, letting the doctor go, "and Arcade, maybe you've got something for this and some scrapes?"

"To prevent infection? I'll see."

"Do what you can. Boone, are you up for traveling? You look better."

"Yeah. Any time."

"Good. Then we'll leave as soon as I'm ready."

Gunnar’s energy was flagging, but he still insisted they leave as soon as he had cleaned up. "Wish I could've washed the clothes, too, but they'll have to wait."

"When did you last sleep?" Arcade asked.

"A while ago. I just wanted to get out of camp. When we're away I'll rest a bit."

"You scared me half to death," Boone said accusingly.

"I'm not made of glass, Boone."

"No, but you took off. We didn't know where you went. What the hell were you thinking?"

"That I had to do something by myself."

"What, take on a Legion squad?"

"No, Craig." Gunnar sounded very tired. "Stop yelling at me."

Boone put an arm around Gunnar's shoulders. "I was worried," he muttered. 

"Fine, be worried, but stop harping on me all the time. I took care of myself out there, just like I've said I could."

Boone said nothing, but didn't remove his arm, either.

Arcade had wandered a little away at this, feeling a bit like a third wheel. That hug before hadn't been spur of the moment, and… something had to be done. Whether it was miscommunication or noncommunication, someone had to start talking, just to sort things out.

"Why can't you be proud of me?"

Arcade's head snapped back to look at the two.

"I mean, seriously, Craig, I took down a whole damn squad by myself. _By myself._ And that was after making sure they saw me so they'd take the bait. And the worst that happened was one of them smacked me in the mouth before I could take him down. Isn't that worth something in this world?"

"I…"

"I'm trying to save the people here from the nastiest threat they've had to face in probably decades, maybe since the bombs dropped, and you just shit on anything I do and say it's too dangerous."

Arcade had to agree, but normally Gunnar wouldn't say 'shit' if he had a mouthful. He edged away a little more as he kept walking. Why, look at that cactus over there, wasn't it fascinating.

"I'm sick of it, Craig."

"I don't want to lose you," Boone said, almost too quiet for Arcade to hear.

"You're going to if you don't stop it."

"What, you'll go to Arcade?"

Oh, now would be a really, really good time to not be here. Or seen. Too bad they were on a flat stretch with nowhere to hide.

"Craig." Gunnar stopped and took Boone's sniper shades from his face so they could see directly eye to eye. "Look at me. I love you. I'm not sure why, right now, but I do. But I can't take this, this — I don't even know what to call it. Protectiveness. Is that a word?" He shook his head angrily. "Protective is one thing, a cage is another! Be proud of me! Be happy for me!"

Arcade had made himself scarce. Good. "I don't want to lose you," Boone whispered again. Gunn didn't understand. Or wouldn't. Boone forced himself to continue before Gunn could speak again. "I've lost my family. I lost Carla. I lost our baby. Everyone. You kept giving me chances and you… you wouldn't let me die. I owe you that."

Gunn was still angry, but kept quiet. Okay. Now what should he say?

"I can't… if I lose you, too, I've got nothing left at all. I can't face that. Not you too." Boone's heart ached in his chest. "I can't… if you die then everyone I ever loved is gone."

"Craig." Gunn struggled to control himself. "Look at me. _Look at me._ The one," this seemed to be costing him, "who you remind me of, the one who was supposed to join me in the Vault, was too afraid to do so. He was too afraid. He didn't go into the Vault with me. He's dead now, long dead. He's _dead_ and he was supposed to be here with me, but he couldn't, because _he was afraid to go with me."_

Gunn began to turn away, because the tears had started, and he bit his lip and then swore and put his hand to his mouth where it'd split open again.

Fear was a hell of a thing. It could paralyze. It could make you run, and keep running. Sometimes it could even make you fight. Boone felt all three at this moment, and didn't know which one to follow. 

_No more chances._ The words burned on the inside of his ears. "You loved him?" Boone asked.

"Of course I did. And he was supposed to be with me. To h-help me."

"He loved you?"

"Yes." Gunnar wiped the blood from his lip on the back of his hand. "But he, he was too scared of the Vaults, of the robots, all that, and, and, he couldn't do it. He said it was —."

_"It's a tomb."_

_"No. Don't say that. It'll be okay."_

_"No. Nobody can sleep for that long and wake up from it. We'll die in there."_

_"We won't die in there. I promise. We'll be together, and we'll survive the bombs." Gunnar put his hands on both sides of his partner’s face. "Please."_

_He looked at me with those eyes. "For you," he said at last. "If you are there, I will go with you."_

Gunnar came back to himself on his knees, bent over, keening. 

"Gunn! Come back!"

Dim words, yelling, far away. Lost everything. Lost family. Lost partners, lovers, _all gone_

"Come on, savior of the world. Come back to us."

Don't want to. Tired of hurting. Tired of same hurts again and again

"Look at me. Or him. Pick one. Come on, open your eyes."

It was lifting the weight of the world to do that, but he did. Boone and Arcade. Yes. Gunnar lifted a shaky arm to wipe at his face. 

"When did you last sleep?" Arcade asked.

Gunnar shrugged.

"Then we're camping here, right now. Boone, watch him. I'll set things up."


	16. A Hundred Years From Today

"What do we have for food?"

"Enough to get us to a town. We haven't shot much to eat lately."

"We need to start doing that again, resupply."

"Yeah."

It felt weird, stopping at midday, but Gunnar was fast asleep under a makeshift pop-tent. The would-be savior of the Mojave pushed himself too hard, Arcade thought.

"What did he remember?" he asked Boone.

"I don't know. Something about one of his partners." Boone hadn't put his glasses back on yet. "One of them was supposed to go into the Vault with him, and didn't."

Arcade winced. 

After a pause, he added, "What about the other one?"

"I don't know."

Another pause. "That's a horrible thing to do to someone you love."

"Yeah." Boone looked at Arcade. "Is that a hint of some kind?"

"No, an observation. If you promise something like that, you should hold to it. Both of them were supposed to go into the Vault with him, and neither one did. That's…" Arcade tossed a pebble into the fire. "They'd better have had damn good reasons. This has to get under control," Arcade said, frowning at the landscape. "These… episodes of his. Some of them are just spacing out, but if he has more like this one, they'll be hard to hide. And nobody wants someone mentally unstable in control. Well. Obviously mentally unstable," he corrected.

"He's not sick in the head," Boone snapped.

"Most of the time? No, he isn't. But at times like these, you know people will think the worst. They want a leader to be strong. You think any of the Families, or Mr. House, or Caesar, could rule without looking strong? And being able to back it up, of course."

They lapsed back into silence.

Boone got to his feet. "Going to see if I can find something to eat," he said.

"Good luck."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar made up his mind a few minutes after he woke. They'd get back to Vegas. Check on Mr. House and see what rumors were flying. Maybe drop a couple of his own. Break up with Craig. Ask Arcade to stick around, though; he needed someone he could depend on.

"You hungry?"

Gunnar looked out of the makeshift shelter. It was afternoon. He'd hoped to get farther before needing sleep, but — "Yeah. I am."

"Good." Boone was smiling. What was that about? "I hope you like mole rat that isn't killed by grenade."

"I _said,_ I felt threatened!"

Gunnar smiled despite himself. "What, it isn't already in bite-sized pieces?"

"I heard that too!"

Boone held out his hand. "Let's eat."

~ ~ ~

There wasn't much gain to breaking camp only to make it again later, so they stayed there the rest of the afternoon. They made the shelter a little bigger, more to act as a windbreak and keep in any warmth; the nights were getting plenty cold now. But then they had time to kill, several hours before bed.

"When we get back to Vegas," Gunnar began, "I've got to check in at the 38 and make sure things are okay there. I hadn't realized Mr. House communicated often enough with the outside world that people would notice when he stopped."

"And then what?"

"Then maybe I'll make a pronouncement of my own. That I'm taking over. Maybe some other things. We'll see."

"Talk with the Families, maybe, since you're there," Boone said.

"I might. I've been bouncing around like a ping-pong ball in a dryer." The metaphor didn't mean anything to Boone and Arcade. “So I'll buckle down and take care of the Families and anything else in Vegas proper."

Gunnar checked his Pipboy for the time, and noticed the date. "It's almost Christmas," he said in surprise. "Do you still have Christmas?"

"Christmas is observed, after a fashion, but how close it is to what you experienced, I couldn't say," Arcade said. "And different communities celebrate it differently, if at all."

"The Strip and Novac and other towns put up lights, if they have power," Boone said. "Different lights, I mean. Strings of them."

"What about gifts?" Gunnar asked. There couldn't be the merchandising juggernaut he remembered, using Santa Claus to imply kids should get lots of toys. There weren't that many kids around, and all the toys were either homemade or pre-war.

"Back home, you'd give something — fruit, like an apple or something else from fall, or pears, maybe some of the winterfruits," Boone said. "Most everyone could get that without much trouble."

"I've seen oranges now and then," Arcade said. "Not up close, of course. But on the Strip, those are popular, if you can afford one, and if you can get one at all."

"I see." Fresh fruit, and something you probably didn't have to outlay a lot of money on, for the average person. That sounded similar to what he'd read — remembered he'd read — from even older days, nineteenth or twentieth century histories. 

_He always hung up little bags of nuts and candy while everyone else slept. They were left by Père Noël, he'd say in the morning. One for everyone, including himself, because of course Père Noël left a little bag for everyone._

Gunnar came back quickly from that one; it had been very short, just a flicker of visual to go with the memory. He wasn't sure the other two had even noticed. But he could do something like that. He might find some candy, somewhere; someone must make the stuff. If not, he'd substitute, and there were the pinyon nuts, and he could probably find some fresh fruit that wasn't scavenged off a cactus before Christmas came. 

There was one other thing, now that he thought about it, but he'd keep that a secret until Christmas, just in case.

"So what was it like in your time?" Arcade asked, interrupting Gunnar's thoughts.

"Christmas? Lots of lights. Christmas trees. Covering even the trees with lights," he explained. They nodded; probably that was still around somewhere. "Presents for everyone. The companies really wanted you to buy lots of gifts. Lots of toys for the kids. And food, plenty of food, there were dishes people only made at Christmas." Most of which he'd never get to taste again. "People singing carols — the Christmas songs — and there was church, too."

"What was that like?" That was Arcade. "There are the old churches and chapels, what's left of them, still standing in ruined towns."

"Yeah, the churches would have their special celebrations too. Different religions had different ideas about it, but Christmas as a religious holiday was Christian — you can hear it in the names — but other religions had their touches." He'd been the only one of the three to attend any church at all. They all had their reasons for going or not going…

"Sounds like a lot of money," Boone said.

"I guess so. Different time." Gunnar looked up at the sky. Two hundred years wasn't enough to change the stars in their courses, whatever happened down here.

~ ~ ~

All three of them stayed in the shelter that night, and Gunnar made sure he was in the middle. Sure, they weren't technically sleeping _together_ together, but it felt right. Safe. 

There had been something about that, in his previous life, he thought, that being in the middle equaled safe. Why? What had happened? What made his brain decide that being protected on all sides, while sleeping, was safest? That didn't seem ordinary, like something most people thought of. And if it was just him and Boone, he didn't feel panicky because someone wasn't on the other side. He still slept fine. But… well, eventually he'd figure it out, he thought, as he yawned and settled himself to sleep.


	17. Chicago Style

_"… Rumors continue to swell that Mr. House, the father of New Vegas, has passed away. Who will fill the power vacuum on the Strip remains uncertain. In other rumors, Legion troops are allegedly moving to secure their northern border. That's all the news at the top of the hour, from me, Mr. New Vegas. Don't ever change, listeners; I love you just the way you are."_

~ ~ ~

"Yes Man, is there a way for me to broadcast my image around New Vegas?"

"You mean, like radio, but with pictures!"

"…Yes," Gunnar said, taking a deep breath. Like television, except that was long gone too. He hadn't seen a working set anywhere, but there were plenty of radios, and Mr. House had projected his youthful picture on some of the computer monitors.

"I don't think so!" Yes Man chirped happily. "You could use the radio, of course, and maybe send your picture to the Securitrons, but that might confuse people if they saw your picture there!"

"I guess so." Gunnar ran his hands through his hair, making it stand all on end.

He, Boone and Arcade had returned to New Vegas and plenty to keep him busy. He shouldn't have left, he thought. Mr. House had indeed died down in his capsule; it might have been the shock that did him in. He was very frail after everything that had happened. Gunnar told Yes Man to seal up the capsule and find a place to bury it beneath the Lucky 38. It was Mr. House's home, after all, and the capsule made a good coffin. He'd already lived in it for so long.

He'd thought Benny had said Mr. House wasn't talking much to the Families any more, but now the cat was out of the bag. How did the saying go? _Once you open a can of worms, the only way to recan them is to use a larger can._ Upon Mr. House's death, an automated program unnoticed by Yes Man had sent out an obituary. Yes Man had caught it after less than a second, but the damage was done; it had already escaped into the wild, and those people who'd seen it had shared it.

The obit was rather self-aggrandizing, just like Mr. House, saying how his untimely death had doomed the entire human race and so on. Now Gunnar had to do damage control, and if he'd been here, he wouldn't have to play catch-up.

Well, no point beating himself up over that. He had too many other things to do, and that was after he'd sent Boone and Arcade out to handle a couple of things on his behalf. 

"But you can send out an announcement, like the one about Mr. House's death, right?" he said to Yes Man.

"You betcha! And I can record a message to send to the radio station and anyone else with a playback machine!"

It was better than nothing. Writing an announcement wouldn't be hard, it would just take time, time he felt he increasingly didn't have. 

"I'll write something up for you to send out, then, and who to send it to," Gunnar said. "Now tell me what's going on with the different factions on the Strip, and whatever you know about these troop movements of the Legion and the NCR."

~ ~ ~

"The signmaker says he can do what you want," Boone said that night, as they ate dinner. "He can have it done soon. In exchange he wants some photographs of different places in the wastes, for his inspiration book, as part of his payment."

"Does he have a camera?" Gunnar wolfed down his food. Had to proofread that announcement and maybe get Arcade to look it over too.

"He does. And film."

"Then I'm good with that. Ask him where the film comes from, too, and how to get it developed. I haven't seen a working camera anywhere around here." 

"If you don't slow down you'll give yourself a gut-ache," Boone said.

"I've got — "

"Work to do, we know," Arcade finished. "I checked out Vault 21 on your behalf. They weren't fond of Mr. House, but I don't think we can count on any support from them, either. Mostly they want the concrete removed from the Vault."

"Concrete?"

"Mr. House filled in at least half of the Vault when he found out about them, and — "

"Wait, wait!" Gunnar wiped his mouth on a rag (if he was in the city, he would at least try to be civilized). "It's an actual Vault? Not just a tourist trap?"

"Tourist trap?"

"Never mind. It's an actual Vault?"

"It really is." Arcade, like Boone, took his time eating. The food was good, why not spend a few minutes enjoying it? It wasn't going to escape off the plate. "Maybe you could go check it out."

Gunnar shook his head. "I can't. I can't afford any memories, not in public. I did come from a Vault, I know that, and if this one is anything like the one I came from, it'll probably trigger memory episodes in spades. I can't risk that right now. You said it yourself, Arcade, I have to look strong."

"I agree, so as your doctor, slow down already. You'll burn out."

"Listen to him," Boone said.

Gunnar looked at them both. "I guess if both of you insist…"

"We do."

"Okay. I'll try. Can't promise anything." He smiled; no hard feelings. Better that they cared enough to say something, after all. "I really will try, though. Craig, can you take care of the photographs?"

"I suppose."

"Great. Arcade, when you visit the Followers, I have some questions for Julie. Can you pass them on for me?"

"Sure. Now I suppose I'm the courier." Arcade lounged back. "Just don't give me any chips to carry. I'd hate for us both to forget."

~ ~ ~  
 _  
To the good people of New Vegas,_

_It is with deep regret that I must announce the passing of New Vegas' founding father, Mr. Robert House. His presence loomed large over the city and all within._

_Mr. House's ailing health in recent years prompted him to find possible candidates to be his protege, to take over New Vegas and lead it into a new direction. Thus while it's always sad to announce a death, I take this opportunity to announce that Mr. House designated me, Gunnar Volk, his heir._

_I have a doctorate in history from the University of Chicago and I'm a student of science with a wide range of knowledge. I'm also quite competent in other areas — just ask the assassin squads who failed to take me down. Actually, you can't ask them, because dead men tell no tales._

_I have new ideas for a brighter, better future for New Vegas. I'll be in contact with all the important personages in the city in the next few days. I look forward to building on the foundation of Mr. House and changing history for the people of the Mojave, and I hope you do too._

_And a special message for my people to the north: The king under the mountain is awake.  
_   
~ ~ ~

"What does that mean?"

"It means House kicked the bucket and this new guy says he's in charge. I bet he whacked House himself."

"Not that, this thing about the king under the mountain?"

"I dunno, maybe he means himself? Or maybe it's some old weapon from before the war."

"Hey, did you hear about this new Gunner Volk guy?"

"Yeah, got the printout right here."

"I thought the Gunner Folk were those Boomers up at Nellis."

"This must be someone else, if he's a Boomer — "

"But they're up north, right? North of Vegas, sure. And this Gunner guy carries a big-ass grenade launcher with him. I've seen it."

"Shit, he's a Boomer? He's gonna blow up anyone who even tries to come near him, I bet."

"Blow up Vegas, more like."

"I dunno, I think I heard about some other thing up north. Some other tribe."

"Yeah?"

"Hey, isn't Caesar sending troops to the north? Can't be about the Boomers."

"You think this Volk has a tribe up north?"

"Could be. Hey! You! You gonna pay for that? This ain't a museum, you break it, you bought it!"

~ ~ ~

"University of Chicago?" Arcade looked at Gunnar with a raised eyebrow.

"If I've got credentials, I might as well use them."

"Chicago is… probably not the same as when you were there."

"I realize that. It was a major metropolitan center, and likely got bombed all to hell."

"That too, but…"

"Spill it, Arcade." Gunnar finished straightening his tie. Nice clean suit, tie, should he try for a hat? No, just leave his hair slicked back.

"The last information I had was that Chicago had a heavy Brotherhood presence."

"Oh." Gunnar paused. "So that might be interesting to… I forgot about that. They want to hear back from me, I'm sure."

"Yes. And… perhaps the Enclave, too."

Gunnar raised his eyes heavenward. "I guess that's what I get for not checking before speaking. Well… what's done is done."

"And the NCR will take a renewed interest in you, I'm sure." Arcade crossed his arms. "Where are you going?"

"To talk to the Omertas. If they're one of the three important Families here, I'd better look good."

"Sure." Arcade eyed him. "Why'd you send Boone away?"

"Because he can handle himself and I hope he has a good eye with a camera. I'd love to do it myself, but no time. How do I look?"

"Very sharp. Very… pre-war. Gunnar…"

Gunnar paused at the door.

"Just talk to him when he gets back. Really talk. About Carla, and your partners, and anything else that might be important."

Gunnar lowered his hand from the doorknob. "Arcade — "

"Because the two of you have got to talk. I told him the same thing, too." Arcade uncrossed his arms. "Get on to your meeting. I'll keep the Legion out until you get back."


	18. Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette)

"I heard you were the one who chased Benny out of the Tops," Cachino said. "You want a drink?"

"No thanks." Everyone offered him drinks, and Gunnar just knew someday it would be rude to refuse. "I'll keep my head clear."

"I like that. Sounds like you got some big brass balls to take on Mr. House. You're the first living person to go in there and come back out. So now you wanna run the whole show, do you?" Cachino took a seat, holding his own drink. Gunnar sat on the sofa opposite, looking as relaxed and confident as he knew how.

"That's right, Cachino. I'm heir to Mr. House's power, and I thought I should come around and say hi. Introduce myself. Mr. House didn't go outside for a long time. Sometimes it's better to get on the street and see what's really happening."

Cachino chuckled. "You really think you can do it?"

"I know I can."

"Tough talk, kid." Cachino leaned back. "But right now things are good. No need to rock the boat. Especially with this war coming up."

"Yes, the war. Whose side are the Omertas on, Cachino?"

Cachino laughed. "You just come right out with it, don't you? That's your problem, kid. You're impatient. Relax. Take it easy. Have a drink."

Gunnar shook his head, smiling. "I suppose I'm impatient at that. Can you give me a tour? Show me what the Gomorrah's all about. I've only frequented the Tops so far."

"The Tops? That rattrap. Those palookas just get our castoffs. We have the best girls, the best booze, the loosest slots. Sure, I'll give you the tour. You can see for yourself why the Omertas are the best on the Strip."

~ ~ ~

"So there you go. Whadaya think?" Cachino tapped a cigarette on the back of his hand and lit up.

Gunnar stuck his hands in his pants pockets. "Very impressive." He wanted to burn the place to the ground. "I can see why you're proud of it." He had to get away and get clean. "Maybe I'll look around a little."

"Sure, you do that. Here's some chips." Cachino handed him some Gomorrah-branded chips. "Have some fun. Find yourself a girl — " He looked sideways at Gunnar. " — or a guy, knock yourself out." He blew out a stream of smoke.

_“…because I’m a monster.” His voice was rusty and hoarse. “I don’t know whether to never leave home again, so I don’t have to face it, or go away and never come back. Keep you two safe that way.”_

_“Stay,” Gunnar said. He put his hand on the dark-haired man's shoulder, which was as tight as hardwood from tension. “We love you. We can keep you safe here.”_

_He only huddled in on himself a little more, and fumbled for his lighter. “I still have work to do.”_

_A hand covered his. “Don’t smoke.”_

_“It’s the only thing that helps.”_

Gunnar blinked hard against the smoke.

"You okay there?" Cachino looked hard at him.

"Yeah. Just remembered something. Thanks for the chips." Gunnar made a gun-sign salute, grinned, and went to the casino.

~ ~ ~

 _Dammit._ How long had he been out? Gunnar hoped not long. In the lobby of the Gomorrah, plenty of people around, and neither Boone nor Arcade to cover for him. But if he left now, it might look worse. Better to look around, on his own. Yes Man had been right; the Omertas were up to something.

"Hello."

Betty the receptionist looked up at the red-haired man who'd approached her desk. He looked important, and a higher class of customer than usually visited the Gomorrah. "Hello, and welcome to Gomorrah!" she said, with a warm smile. "How can I help you?"

"What's there to do around here?" he asked.

"Feel free to head to our club, Brimstone, or you can see our gorgeous courtyard out behind the casino."

He nodded, looked around the lobby. "You seem nice," he said. "How'd you end up working here?"

"Well, thank you, sir, but of course I'm one of the first faces a customer sees when visiting Gomorrah. I wouldn't last long if I scared people off." Another smile.

"I see." He placed his elbows on the counter and leaned forward a little. "I'm sure you have all the good dirt on what goes on around here." He winked. He had a nice smile, and clean clothes. Genuinely better class than the usual dirtbags who came in, and he had money to spend on keeping clothes clean, of all things.

Betty giggled despite herself. "I sure do, but loose lips sink ships."

He chuckled too. "I'm Gunnar Volk," he said.

"Gunnar Volk…" Now she placed him. "You're the guy from the Lucky 38? The one taking over from Mr. House?"

He spread his hands. "Guilty as charged."

They both laughed at that. "But seriously, Miss…?"

"Betty." It was a stage name, just like all the girls used. She never gave out her real name, not even to a guy like this.

"Betty," he repeated. "That's a good name, it suits you. Anyway, Betty, can you help me find someone?"

"Depends on who you're looking for. We have guys, girls, even ghouls. Lots of options available, and you look like you have the cash."

"I do, but… this place is very… in-your-face, isn't it?" He looked genuinely uncomfortable about that.

"What, you mean the dancers? The personal servicers?" Betty considered it bad form to call them "whores" or "hookers" right out in public like that, even if that's what they were, until the customer did. "Customers don’t know what to buy unless the goods are on display, Mr. Volk."

"I suppose so, but…" He shook himself. "Not to my taste, I suppose. Anyway. Would you know where Cachino is at present?"

"Probably at the back of the Brimstone having drinks."

"All right. Then could I have a key to his room, while he's occupied?"

"Wow. You're really brazen, Mr. Volk."

He smiled again. "Benny and I have talked over a lot of things. Like how he used to slip you a little extra something now and then. So, I'm calling in the favor. Tell me what the Omertas are up to."

Betty sighed. There it was. Even a guy who looked nice had an ulterior motive. "I knew someone would call in that mark soon. What do you want to know?"

"Like I said, I need a key to Cachino's room, and I know something's going on behind the scenes here. I just need to know what."

"Mr. Volk, I'm just the receptionist. They don't tell me their plans and I don't want to know. I'm just happy they don't make me fuck anybody anymore."

He looked genuinely sad about that, like his dog had died. Betty didn't like that look. "Some of the girls say Cachino's been involved in some shady business the Family wouldn't really like," she said, trying to make up for it. Even if she didn't have to.

"How about 300 caps for the key?"

"Fine, here you go. If anyone asks you ain't never seen me before."

"You got it, Betty." They made the exchange, and he left.

"What a strange guy," she murmured to herself. What did he expect to see in a whorehouse-casino? Full body covers? Still… Now she didn't owe anything to anyone. If Cachino found out… well, he was a creep and deserved whatever was coming to him, but if he caught the guy poking around his stuff…

Betty flagged one of the drink servers. "Hey, Fantasy. Tell Cachino to stop by here, would you? Tell him I've gotta see him." There was always something she could ask him to review on the books, and that would keep him busy a little while.

~ ~ ~

How much had Benny set up, anyway? Well, if he'd planned to take over from Mr. House, everything, Gunnar thought. Even paying a Gomorrah receptionist for information, and keeping her well paid so she'd owe him in the future. Paranoid, sure, but Benny likely hadn't survived as long as he had by trusting people.

Gunnar smiled to himself. Boone kept saying he trusted too easily. Maybe so, maybe not; but he had to play by the rules of whatever game was going on, until he could bend them in his favor.

Such as now, breaking into Cachino's room and snooping about. He hoped he'd find something here, because Cachino was a lieutenant; anyone higher up would be a lot harder to manipulate or get dirt on. 

Just getting to Cachino's place without anyone seeing him had been hard enough. He wished the Other had been there, the dark-haired one, who — no, don't try to trigger a memory, not now! Think about it later. But bits were starting to come back…

Gunnar looked as quickly as he could in Cachino's room for anything important. All these places were so poorly lit; the Gomorrah had electricity, but still had low lighting and "bordello red" paint on the walls. The effect for Gunnar was like being inside a series of bloody rooms, as if he needed any more reason to get out of here. 

His search paid off. Cachino, like many others, kept his crimes neatly organized with paperwork. Gunnar couldn't blame him; organization was the only way to get ahead, really, no matter the topic. The journal — too many personal entries to be considered a ledger — showed Cachino was doing a lot of business on the side. 

If the Omertas were based on the pre-war Mob in more ways than the name and the dress code, Gunnar thought, and he had no reason to think otherwise, they'd take a dim view of such independent action.

 _Look at me; about to add blackmail to my new C.V._ But until he could take down Gomorrah completely, he needed the Omertas' support, or at least a guarantee they wouldn't backstab him.

Time for another talk with Cachino, and see about a deal.


	19. The Darktown Poker Club

"Where'd you get that?" Cachino said, his face pale.

"Oh, just… Around. Fascinating reading, actually." Gunnar opened the journal and ran a finger down the page. "You're very enterprising. Also complete scum." His voice turned hard. "Whether you're bigger scum than your bosses, I don't know yet, but how you treat these women —"

"They're employees and I can treat 'em however I want as long as they owe money to the Family."

"Which is forever, right? Company scrip system, maybe? But I bet your bosses don't care about that. They'd care about your side business, though."

Cachino looked around, nervous. "I can make it worth your while to give that back to me."

"I don't know, I think it might be good reading. Maybe Big Sal wants to join my book club. We can start with your memoirs here." Gunnar snapped the journal shut and wagged it in the air.

"Put that down, you —" Cachino caught himself. "Okay, look. You got me by the balls, I admit it." Cachino ran a hand over his balding head. "Look, I can't stop you going to the bosses, but I think we can help each other out."

"Then let's talk." Gunnar sat down in the chair across from Cachino, but kept the book.

~ ~ ~

At the end of the discussion, Cachino had his journal back, and Gunnar had a plan. Best to do it all quickly, before anyone got word up to Big Sal and Nero. Mr. House had set up all these Families, he remembered; the Chairmen, the Omertas, and the White Gloves. He recognized the mob overlays and the swank swingers; but they'd all been tribals before Mr. House dressed them up pretty and gave them new identities. If all went well, by morning he'd have the Omertas in his pocket alongside the Chairmen, and that only left the Gloves. What they were like, he didn't know yet. But he'd find out.

And now, to take care of business. Ha. If he told them the truth about Benny they'd probably offer him a place in the Family.

~ ~ ~

"Whoa, you move fast, don't you?" Cachino shook his head.

"I have to." _Before I lose my nerve._ "Clanden's taken care of and Troike…" Gunnar checked his Pipboy. "Should have destroyed the guns by now."

Clanden was evil, very evil, and Gunnar didn't feel remorse over turning the chemical bomber and his "home movies" over to the NCR. That was another good reason to move quickly. The bosses might not notice Clanden was gone yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Gunnar had convinced Big Sal that Troike was too strung out on chems to be much good any longer, so Troike's contract was released and the smuggler was persuaded to plant thermite in the gun storage room. That was something else Gunnar had to take care of; Troike was getting his guns from some dirty troops in the NCR, and they should know who was dealing.

Cachino lit a cigarette, and Gunnar hoped there wouldn't be a memory. This time he was lucky. "Shit!" Cachino waved out the match. "No wonder Benny ran like hell when you showed up. I'm glad we're on the same side."

"Are we?" Gunnar said, stepping back a little to avoid the smoke.

"Sure, sure, of course we are!"

"Then what's the next step in breaking up the bosses' plans?"

"Now we cut off the head of the serpent. Big Sal and Nero have to die. As long as they're alive, they can start back up. All you've managed to do is stall them. I guarantee you they have contingencies."

Gunnar would've been surprised if they hadn't. A torturer who could also make chemical bombs, and a big enough stockpile of guns to outfit an army — of course the Omerta bosses knew what they were doing. As soon as they knew something had gone wrong, everything was going to blow up, metaphorically.

Gunnar was still riding on nerves at the moment, but it wouldn't last forever, and at some point he had to sleep. All this business with the Omertas had taken time. "Okay, so we take them down. And then…"

"Then I'm gonna run this joint. Don't worry, I'll take care of the place."

"You'd better, Cachino. I expect your support after setting you up here."

"Sure, Mr. Volk, sure. Go have a drink, some chips, while I find where they are."

~ ~ ~

Cachino found Gunnar sitting with his back to the bar, nursing a bottled soda. "Thought you'd be gambling," he said.

Gunnar shook his head. "Waiting for you and having some caffeine." He looked critically at the Nuka-Cola bottle. "I remember when these actually tasted good. What news do you have?"

"Troike got himself caught after he melted all the guns. Bastard mentioned your name before they shot him in the head."

Gunnar frowned, though Cachino likely wouldn't realize the real reason. "They move quickly, too. I didn't think they'd find out this fast."

"They did, and now the bosses want to see you." Cachino mopped his brow with a handkerchief. 

"What should I expect? How many of them?" Gunnar was tired despite the soda; it was late, and he didn't want to kill anyone.

"Big Sal and Nero, both in the same room. You won't get another chance for this. I'll slip you a gun and we can take them out."

Gunnar looked up from the Nuka-Cola bottle to Cachino. Nervous little creep, sadistic bastard, but for now, he was the only one Gunnar could rely on. He drained the bottle. "Let me hit the can and we'll take care of it," he said.

~ ~ ~

Nero was the don, as Gunnar understood, and Big Sal his right-hand man. Take both of them down and was anyone left besides Cachino? Probably not. At least Cachino could get him a gun. Gunnar hoped this would work. 

_Should've written something or left a message for Craig and Arcade. Too late now. Next time._

Just before the door, Cachino took a sawed-off shotgun from under his coat and passed it to Gunnar. "I hear you like the big guns," he said with a smile. "Just don't catch me in the blast, got it?"

"Sure." Gunnar checked for ammunition; he wouldn't have been surprised to find it was empty and this was all a setup. But Cachino was on the level. _Now I'm starting to 'talk' like them even inside my head._ It wasn't easy fitting this thing under his own coat, but Gunnar managed, then put on a winning smile; it made him look younger, open and honest, so maybe the bosses would underestimate him. He walked confidently into the room ahead of Cachino.

Big Sal lived up to his name. Nero looked soft as a brick and about as warm. Both were armed. Gunnar pretended he didn't notice and kept smiling. "Hey, Big Sal, Nero, good to meet you both.”

"Shut up, punk." That was Big Sal. "Take a seat on the couch over there, Nero and me want to have a little talk with you." He gestured with the barrel of his own sawed-off.

"Sure. Aren't you going to offer me a drink?" Gunnar sat, almost spread his arms out, realized that would expose the shotgun and settled into a different posture instead.

"You're a real smartass, aren't you? You're so smart, I assume you know why we called you here?"

"You wanted to find out for yourselves if I'm the guy who killed both Benny and Mr. House?"

That gave them pause, but only for a moment. Gunnar didn't give them time to speak, but continued, "I hear you've lost some guns."

"Yeah, we lost some guns, you little weasel." Big Sal did all the talking, while Nero fingered his automatic rifle. That could be nasty, just from rate of fire. "But we can get more guns. You slowed us down but you can't stop us. You're gonna die a failure."

_"We didn't save and work for you to go to college to draw lines on a map! You were to be a real doctor, not some teacher with chalk dust under his fingernails!"_

They were staring at him. He had to recover this. "Thanks for giving me that moment to myself. As a last request, will you tell me more about your plan?"

Nero laughed. So did Big Sal. "Are you shitting me? You don't even know what the plan was?"

"Well, Nero didn't tell me any of it when he convinced me to take you down." Keep talking before they start thinking. "Nero made me a better offer is all, Sal. It's just business. You want to whack someone, you hire the best, and that's me."

Somehow it worked. Maybe there really was some bad blood between them, because big Sal raised his gun toward Nero as he turned, and Nero lifted his own. 

They were close enough together. Gunnar pulled out the shotgun and fired with both barrels. At this short range, he couldn't miss, just like practicing against the barn after he'd woken up in this world. The recoil smashed the stock into his side and hurt like all hell.

The noise was deafening inside the room, and then, suddenly, it was over. Big Sal and Nero lay on the floor, Nero still moving, blood soaking through their old, shiny suits. Gunnar blinked. No way his one gun could have done all that.

Movement in the corner of his eye, and he looked at Cachino, who had his own firearm. Ah. 

"You're a cold sonofabitch," Cachino said to Gunnar, shaking his head. "Glad you're on my side."

"Just remember our agreement," Gunnar heard himself say, as if from a distance. Yes, those were the right words to say. He stood and tossed the loaned shotgun onto the couch. He needed to get out of here and make sure he hadn't broken a rib or caused internal bleeding with that stunt.

"I will, I will, don't worry. Why don't you go take it easy, I'll clean this up."

"Thanks, but I'm going back to the 38 for now. I'll let you know when we need to talk again." Get home, get looked at and get to bed.

It was after three in the morning. _Nothing good ever happens between midnight and six A.M._ So far it had always proven true.


	20. Five Minutes More

Gunnar's side throbbed worse as he walked, so he set a slower than usual pace on his way back to the Lucky 38. He couldn't have run anyway, but he didn't want to attract attention, and hoped the few people around were unlikely to be sober enough to notice. He had the Duzi back, of course, returned to him when he'd left the Gomorrah, but hoped he wouldn't have to use them.

"Welcome home, sir!" barked the Securitron guarding the door. He raised a hand in greeting and thanked the robot. It was just a robot, Boone or Arcade would say, what did it care if he acknowledged it? But maybe it did. Anyway he'd feel weird if he wasn't polite to it.

Up to the suites and the penthouse. Gunnar wished they had a different painkiller than Medex; even before the war he'd known the stuff was nearly straight morphine. But damn, did his side hurt. 

He found Arcade asleep on one of the couches, with a book on his chest. He'd probably stayed up waiting for Gunnar to get home. Gunnar turned off the lights in that room and took a blanket off one of the extra beds. He gently placed it over Arcade, who didn't wake.

Then to the master suite, where he left his suit coat and weapons. The armor might have helped, but he couldn’t just waltz into a casino for a 'friendly chat' in full armor and loaded for bear. He was tired and wanted to get the stink, both literal and metaphorical, of Gomorrah off him before he went to bed.

 _I miss you._ He thought that about several people right now, those he currently lived with and those he half-remembered. He missed them terribly. All he wanted was to live comfortably with them and love and be loved, and not kill anyone any more, and — 

He sank onto the bed, head in hands. The Other had had so much trouble too, hadn't he? Gone away and… done things… no specifics, ever, but… when he'd come back he'd always had to readjust to their life. A soldier back from the war, over and over again.

He remembered — 

_It was there just long enough for him to catch a whiff, that specific scent of baking bread that_ the man who’d been gone _would always say was what told him he was really home again. Gunnar would bake every day for weeks after a homecoming._

At the memory, his upper arms felt the pull of muscles used for kneading dough.

He had to hold it together. Had to write down what happened at the Gomorrah, had to get a shower, had to — 

"Gunn?"

Gunnar's head snapped up. Boone was back. He was home. He made himself smile, everything's fine. "You're back," he said, standing.

Boone was covered in road dust and looked tired too. "Figured I'd rather come back as fast as I could," he said, and smiled a little too.

"It's good to see you again," Gunnar said. "I missed you."

"Missed you too." Boone began to unbuckle his armor. "What're you doing up so late?"

"Long story." Gunnar yawned. "Tomorrow?"

"Sure."

Gunnar started to pull back the cover on their bed, but paused. It was a nice bed, dammit, actually clean and everything. "Let's use one of the other beds."

"Why?"

"We're dirty." Boone in travel grime, Gunnar in the smoke, sweat and perceived filth from Gomorrah.

"You're weird about that, you know?" But Boone didn't seem bothered by the request.

"I can't help it."

"Probably because you're pre-war. They had all that soap and Abraxo."

"It was the cleanest of times, it was the dirtiest of times," Gunnar deliberately misquoted. "Let's use the spare bed tonight."

~ ~ ~

Arcade woke with a stiff neck and his glasses poking into the side of his nose. What? — Oh. He'd fallen asleep on the couch. The lights were off, and he got to his feet, letting the book drop to the floor. Felt like there was a blanket or some such by his feet. It was still night, by a glance at the window. Lights off probably meant Gunnar had gotten home safe and sound; and if he hadn't, it wasn't likely Arcade could do much about it.

(And what did that phrase mean, really? Safe and sound? The safe part made sense, but sound? Perhaps Gunnar would know.)

Arcade rubbed the back of his neck and went to his bedroom, only to discover the blanket missing from the bed. Now what? Where had it gone? The hell with it, there was another bed in the next room — 

— which was already occupied. What was this, some dumb joke? So Gunnar had come home and gotten into the spare bed? 

Grumbling, Arcade went to the master suite. Fine, he'd play that game. He got into the bed and — hey, this was _nice._ Really comfortable. Plenty of room, too, and no springs poking up through the mattress to stab the unwary sleeper. Soft like he could imagine sleeping on a cloud must be. Arcade spread his arms and legs out, stretching, and went back to sleep.

~ ~ ~

Gunnar woke, tried to stretch, and winced at the ache in his side. Boone's back was against his; the sniper was still asleep. Gunnar blinked at the sliver of light coming in from the hallway. Daytime. How late was it? He checked his Pipboy. Late enough to think about lunch instead of breakfast. 

He got up, went to the intercom, and gave Yes Man a lunch order for three. He could get used to this, he thought, having robots do all the cooking and cleaning; and he probably would, if he pulled this off. 

"Lunch will be up right away! Have I told you how wonderful it is to receive orders from you, Mr. Volk!" Yes Man's happy voice came from the intercom.

"I hope that's not sarcasm, Yes Man," Gunnar said, smiling.

"Of course not! I don't have any possible way of experiencing or expressing sarcasm! I'm happy to serve! I _live_ to serve! Oh, does this order include the ghoul in Basement Two!"

Ghoul in Basement Two? "You mean Raul?"

"That might be him! He said he was a mechanic and that he wanted to find a nice quiet place by the reactor!"

Gunnar had completely forgotten about Raul, who had probably been in the Lucky 38 for several days without anyone noticing. "What's he been doing?"

"When he's here! Sleeping, mostly! He goes out by himself sometimes! He's very polite and quiet, you'd hardly know he was here!"

Boy, wasn't that the truth. "He's in the 38 right now?"

"Yes he is! Should I send him up!"

"…Not right now." Food and a shower or bath or something, and get a new suit before he visited the White Gloves. "Maybe later I'll check in with him."

~ ~ ~

"What the hell…?"

Arcade sleepily opened his eyes to see Boone standing over him. "Good morning to you, too," he said, and yawned.

"You're in our bed."

Arcade propped up on one arm and looked about him. "Amazing. What powers of deduction you have. You have that sniper's eye for sure."

"Smartass."

Arcade scratched at the back of his head. "This is a good bed. Why was it empty last night?"

"Gunn didn't want it to get dirty. I know," Boone sighed, as Arcade looked about to laugh. "You don't have to say it."

"All right, I won't. I'll just think it very hard and accent it with meaningful looks. But I'm here because — oh, never mind, it'll sound stupid. And don't _you_ say anything." Arcade spread his hands across the blanket. "This is a damn comfortable bed."

"I know. I would've liked to use it last night. So get your smart ass out of it already."

Arcade _tsk'd_ but complied. "Where's Gunnar? He's home, isn't he?"

"Why wouldn't he be?" Now Boone frowned.

"You know how he likes to get right to work," Arcade evaded. "I thought maybe — " He caught sight of himself in the wall mirror and immediately began smoothing his rumpled hair. "Is that what I look like in the morning? I'm not sure I like having intact mirrors around."

"No, His Cleanliness is in the shower. I never saw anyone so obsessed about dirt." Boone had changed to his other set of clothes, which were clean enough to get by. "If he starts taking daily showers I'll send him to that shrink."

Arcade got his hair into a tolerable state by the time Gunnar returned, in the blue robe that formerly belonged to Benny, and lunch was delivered, by a variant Mr. Handy that spoke with a dodgy French accent.

"I'm pretty sure he got programmed by someone who only knew French from movies," Gunnar said, "but Yes Man found him deactivated and decided to put him to use again since we now need meals, at least sometimes."

"Is that French? I thought it had a bad speech synthesizer." Boone lifted the cover of one of the dishes. "Nice to not have to cook, though."

Now dressed, Gunnar entered the common room and eased himself into a chair. "How's your trip, Craig?"

"Fine, I got all the pictures for the artist."

"You must've really hoofed it, you got back here fast."

"Yeah, I did. If I waited too long you might get into trouble without me."

Gunnar looked at Boone, visibly unsure how to take that, but Boone flicked at Gunnar's hair. "It's a joke."

"Oh." 

"As in, you'd get into trouble, without me there with you."

"Got it."

Arcade kept his eyes on his food.

"So what've you been up to?" Boone asked.

"Resupplying. Talking to people," Arcade said. "There's some issues between the Kings and the NCR. I talked with the NCR about it and it sounds like there's trouble brewing, but because someone's stoking the fire. It needs to be looked into."

"Okay," Gunnar said. "Sounds suitably low-key." 

"Did you take care of your own chores yesterday?" Arcade asked.

"Yeah." Gunnar cleared his throat. "I talked with the Omertas," he told Boone.

"Chores, huh," said Boone.

"I talked with them, and they'll be on my side now. So that's taken care of."

~ ~ ~

_"…In other news, Gomorrah is under new management after the sudden departure of Omerta bosses Nero and Big Sal. The Casino's new manager told reporters, 'Big Sal and Nero have gone on a long-anticipated fishing trip to Lake Mead.' You know, they say no news is good news. But I think my program would be awfully dull if that were the case. This next song…"_

Cachino turned off the radio as some of his new lieutenants and informers filed into what was now his office. "So what dirt did you find on this Volk character?"

"Cleaner than purified water," Jonesy, a new lieutenant, said. "He donates to the Followers and refugees. Does charity work."

"He didn't take any drinks last night," said the guy in charge of the bartenders. "Stuck with new bottles of Nuka, didn't ask about chems."

"Fresca?" Cachino turned to her. She was good at her job, getting guys to open up and talk.

"He barely looked at the girls," Fresca said. Since she was off-duty, she covered up in old denim and a blouse two sizes too big. The whole getup hid everything she showed off while working. "And before you ask, barely looked at the guys, either. He was like a New Canaan tourist trying to avoid sinning with his eyes."

"Sounds like he's a goody-two-shoes," Jonesy cracked.

Those in the room chuckled, but not Cachino. "You can say that, but the bastard's killed Mr. House, Benny and some other important people around here," Cachino pointed out, killing the mood. "I've seen him shoot people point-blank. Find out anything you can on him, any weakness. Maybe he was just on business here last night and that's why he didn't partake of our many fine services. But everyone's got a weakness." He remembered something. "See if he's got any health problems."

"Besides the bullet to the head, boss?"

"Yeah…" That was right, Volk had taken a hit to the head and survived. "He's a tough motherfucker. But there might be something to find there anyway."

"He's got a Follower with him," someone offered. 

"A doctor? Or just a martyr?"

"Don't know, boss."

"Then find out. And if it's a doctor, find out why. I want answers and information about this guy. Where he came from, any details, no matter how small. Now get to work, all of you."


	21. Doin' the Uptown Lowdown

"Let's talk to the Kings and the NCR and get that straightened out," Gunnar said, trying to get into his armor without touching his side. 

"What's the matter?" Boone asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you hurt?"

"It's just an ache, I'm fine." Should've known Boone would pick up on it. "I'll take it easy today."

~ ~ ~

The meeting with the King went well, and Gunnar negotiated a truce between the Kings and the NCR. "It's always been this way, throughout history," he told Arcade and Boone. "Refugees or immigrants come in, the locals don't like them, for any number of reasons. It's nothing new. Sometimes it resolves itself and sometimes it needs outside influence to resolve it."

“And you’re the outside influence?” Arcade mused.

"I hope so. It helps if I don't have everyone fighting around me while I try to take on Caesar. In a lot of ways, dealing with Vegas factions is like herding cats."

There was a pause as Gunnar realized the other two weren't familiar with the phrase. What was similar to cats around here? Anything? "Like herding cazadores," he modified.

"Why would you want to?" Boone asked.

"Why isn't relevant. Just say it's got to be done." Gunnar would have continued, but three of the grimy Vegas kids ran up to them. "Mr. Volk! Mr. Volk!"

"Yes?" If nothing else, maybe negating the local squabbles would help these kids and their generation. "What's up, kids?"

"Is it true you got shot in the head and survived?" one asked breathlessly.

He hadn't expected that. "Yes, it is. I was very lucky."

"Where're you from?" another asked.

"The north." It was one version of the truth. 

"Are you gonna fight Caesar?" the youngest one chimed in.

"I'd rather not kill anyone, but I'll do what I have to, to protect the people of the Mojave." Gunnar fished some caps out of his pocket and tossed them to the kids, who scrambled for them and then ran off. "Someone's hunting for information," he said.

"Yeah, no way those kids came up with that on their own," Boone agreed. "Maybe some reporter for Mr. New Vegas." He clapped a hand on Gunnar's opposite shoulder and pulled him close. Gunnar hissed in pain as his hurt side connected with Boone.

"What's wrong, and don't weasel out of it this time," Boone said.

"I hurt myself yesterday, that's all. It's still sore."

"This didn't happen while you were 'talking' with the Omertas, did it?" Arcade asked.

"If you're going to scold me about it, can we go home first?" Gunnar resisted the urge to hold his side. Not in public, anyway. "Keep up an image of strength, and all that?"

~ ~ ~

"If you say you got this by running into a door," Arcade warned.

Gunnar shook his head and tried not to flinch as Arcade probed the bruised flesh. "No, I didn't. I got it from a sawed-off." He was surprised Boone was holding his temper so well about it; he could tell the sniper wasn't happy.

"The Omertas?" Boone asked.

"Yeah. Ow."

Arcade straightened. "Nothing's broken, but it's going to hurt for a few more days. This is from a weapon stock, based on the shape."

So Gunnar told them what he'd done at the Gomorrah, and how it had turned out. "I don't like that place," he said at the end, easing a shirt back on after Arcade had slathered some healing goop on the bruise. "I'd like to see it burned to the ground, but I don't have time for that now."

"That won't stop anyone from selling what the Gomorrah sells," Arcade said mildly.

"No, it won't. But that place… it made my skin crawl. I know men and women sell their bodies, I get it. I don't like it, but I get it." He shook himself. "I don't get how people can just… I don't know. That sort of place is creepy and sad, not erotic."

"You're higher class than that," Boone said.

"I guess so. Cachino tried to set a girl on me, too."

Arcade laughed. "Shows what he — "

"I mean, girls are nice too, but not like that," Gunnar finished. He looked at both Arcade and Boone. "What?"

"You can understand, I hope, why we might be confused about such a statement from you?" Arcade asked.

Gunnar's eyes moved in that searching way when one is trying to figure out what the problem is.

"Gunn?" Boone said. "How about you and me go to the cocktail lounge?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: are Boone and Gunn finally going to talk it out?


	22. Prisoner of Love

There were very old bottles of booze here, untouched since the war. Probably worth quite a bit if anyone could appreciate them for what they were. Neither Gunnar nor Boone took any.

They sat facing each other in a booth at the edge, where they could look out over the city ruins, lit by neon signs in the early evening.

Gunnar brought his diary and a pencil with him, and began to sketch. For a few minutes the sound of the pencil was the only noise.

"What're you drawing?" Boone asked at last.

"This room. What's outside."

Boone nodded. "Look, you remember Arcade said we should talk."

"Yeah." Here it comes, Gunnar thought. Now he'd have to tell Boone about breaking up with him — though he wasn't sure if he really wanted to any more; but — 

"I guess neither of us wants to start," Boone said.

Gunnar made an amused noise. "Yeah. That sounds right." He didn't look up from the diary. He'd be much more nervous if he had nothing to do.

Boone coughed, looked out the window. "You never asked me about Carla," he said at last.

Gunnar's hand stilled and he looked up. "You didn't want to talk about her," he said. "It was like pulling teeth to get you to say anything at all. I figured you didn't want to."

"Okay," Boone said, after a pause. "I guess I can see that."

"Is it okay to ask about her now?" Gunnar said, returning to his diary.

"Yeah. You can."

"Okay. Tell me about her."

Boone did, about how they'd met, and how they'd married on a whim, at the NCR embassy. Then came Bitter Springs, and she saw he was different, and then he didn't re-enlist. Neither did Manny, and when he invited Boone to move to Novac, he and Carla talked it over and decided to try it for a while.

"The baby was on the way, and we thought Novac might be a better place for it. You know, all those things about the city, and how it's better in the country, stuff like that," Boone said. "You want anything?"

"Yeah, see if there's any Nukas on the shelf." Gunnar finished up his art and closed the book while Boone brought back a beer and a cola. "Thanks."

"Sure." Boone popped open the beer. "Did this taste any better in your time?"

"Probably. It would've been served cold, too."

"Like now?"

"No, like refrigerated. Um… those fridges, they had coolant in them to keep everything in them icy cold. So you could keep meat and other food fresh, and chill drinks."

"Huh." Boone took a swig of the beer.

"How did Novac suit the two of you?" Gunnar asked, opening his own drink.

"It was okay. I needed it. Time away from things and people. Not having to kill anyone except occasional Legion or Raiders. Tried to sort out my head. Carla didn't like it much after the first few days."

Gunnar had heard as much, from the residents of Novac. "Small town blues?"

"She came from Vegas, remember. Not much to do here if you didn't start a garden or raise brahmin, and she didn't know how to do either. No call for a bar, not enough people. I was on duty all night, sleeping during the day. It wasn't easy on her and I didn't make it easier. Maybe I should've told her about Bitter Springs. I wanted to. But I didn't want her getting upset and… maybe something happening to the baby." Boone made little circles on the dusty table with the base of the beer bottle. 

Gunnar felt like they should've tried — well, it didn't matter, couldn't be fixed, so he said nothing about it. "She must've been someone really special."

"She was." Boone stared into the far distance. "She was a knockout. Didn't look anything like you," he added, looking at Gunnar.

Gunnar laughed. "That's a good thing."

A smile ghosted across Boone's face. "Yeah, I guess so."

They drank in silence for a short while.

"So what about yours?" Boone finally asked.

"I wish I could remember their names. Or much about what they looked like." Gunnar hunched over the table. "Except one was blond, one had dark hair. But even then it feels like it's all getting confused in my head sometimes. Like, when I remember something, which one am I remembering about?"

"So tell me what you do know. Maybe you can sort it out."

"Maybe." Gunnar sipped at the cola. "Okay. One was… like you. Kind of quiet. Good with guns. And he didn't like robots or computers."

"Okay."

"The other was — I keep thinking he was — a soldier, or something? And he had to kill people, maybe… maybe he was an assassin. Hard to believe in that from my time, even though it keeps happening here." Gunnar set down the bottle and stared out the window at the night. Only the neon glowed.

"Okay."

"Every time he came home… it was like starting over. Now I remember it was because he was always messed up, in his mind, from whatever it was he was doing."

Boone nodded. "I've seen that. Been there."

"So most of the time it was just the two of us, unless he, the third one, was home. Then we all had to adjust again." Gunnar exhaled noisily. "How can I remember that, but I can't remember details? Names or ages or faces, or, what life was like, until my brain decides to just toss something at me?"

"It's coming back," Boone pointed out. "It'll all be back eventually. Then it'll make you sad again."

"You've got a point." Gunnar sipped again at his drink. "Ignorance is bliss, right? Except when it isn't."

"What else do you remember?"

Yes, get back on track. "We had a home. I worked… somewhere. The first one, the one home all the time, he… our home was somewhere cold and wild. I remember that. And he spent a lot of time outdoors. He taught me — "

_— how to skin an animal, how to cook over a fire, how to live wild if you had to. How to shoot a rifle — the Other taught him how to use a pistol. How to make love._

Gunnar came back with his cheeks turning red and Boone watching him with interest.

"What was that one?" Boone asked.

"I'm not —" Gunnar started, then shut his mouth. "He taught me a lot. They both did. And I had the respectability, and I was — the center, I guess. They did it all for me."

And when the time came, when they were supposed to go into the Vault, they weren't there. The Other had said he might not make it, but the, the Not-Other, he should have been there. He would have been perfect for this world. 

Gunnar laced his fingers together and pressed his hands to his mouth as though in prayer. _I hope you ended up together and were happy,_ he thought — no, prayed.

"And now?"

Gunnar looked up at Boone. "Now it's me and you," he said, making himself smile. Breaking up was going to be hard, but — 

"Yeah. It is." Boone reached out to put his hand on Gunnar's. "I didn't picture it. After Carla died… just figured I'd go down fighting."

Gunnar nodded and lowered his hands so he could hold Boone's.

"You like women, too? I thought you were…"

"I remember it. Yes. At least one woman." Gunnar looked at their hands. Something missing… "And I liked it."

"So how'd you end up with two men?"

Gunnar didn't know yet. "Someday maybe I'll remember," he said. There had been a ring, and now there wasn't one. That was the missing item — he'd had a wedding ring, once. _I was married. I had a ring. But I don't now._

"You don't like to be alone," Boone said. "I think you found some people who liked you. Loved you, I mean. And it worked. You were happy with them. I don't think you've ever said anything bad about them."

"You've never said anything bad about Carla," Gunnar pointed out.

"It wouldn't be right."

"Yeah."

They were still holding hands across the table.

"You did good at the Omertas," Boone said.

"Thanks."

"I mean it. I know that wasn't easy for you, having to kill someone again." Boone squeezed Gunnar's hands.

"I didn't want it to happen. I just wanted to talk and find out where they stood." Gunnar squeezed back, a different conversation. "But they had their own plans for what to do to the Strip, and I couldn't let that happen."

"And you walked out safe. Mostly safe," Boone amended. "Just a bruise."

Gunnar laughed quietly. "Yeah, that recoil beat me up worse than the Legion." The Legion assassins didn't usually get close enough to do that kind of damage.

Boone was still looking at him, though, that kind of look like _Do you get it? Do you understand?_ What was he missing?

"If you do that again," Boone said, slowly and clearly, "don't lie to me about getting hurt afterward. Got it?"

Something important was going on here and Gunnar felt a sinking sense of desperation that he hadn't picked up on it yet. _Okay, think. He didn't freak out about the Omertas, he —_

_Oh._

"I won't," Gunnar said, holding both of Boone's hands tightly. "I promise."


	23. Top Hat, White Tie and Tails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a night on the town! Also the beginning of what I like to call the "Craig Boone, P.I." story arc.

"Tell me about this White Glove club," Gunnar said.

He'd updated his diary, noted progress on different fronts, and reviewed some of his earliest entries, now that they'd moved his books to the Lucky 38. His memory was definitely improving. In the first weeks after he'd woken, he hadn't remembered things like apples, or even been sure of his own name. Boone had spoken truly, he was remembering more, even if sometimes it seemed slow and imperfect.

But he had to get Vegas on his side, one way or another, before he could continue the fight against Caesar, and then face off the NCR. So that meant this other one of the Families. 

"So far I'm not very impressed," Gunnar continued. "Benny said the Chairmen were the classy ones, and I can see that, since the Omertas are based on an organized crime stereotype. At least the Chairmen are classy thugs."

"If it's class you're after, the White Gloves should be it," Arcade said. "Haven't you heard their ads on the radio?"

Gunnar shook his head.

"They're at the Ultra-Luxe," Boone said. "Fancy place. Big money, and they have a dress code."

"That's different. What else?"

Neither Arcade nor Boone could say; they'd never been inside, nor knew anyone who had been. 

"So we need recon. Can you two go ask around over there? Find out what the dress code is, get me a reservation, that kind of thing?"

"Sure."

"Like, right now?" Gunnar added.

"It's almost midnight," Arcade said.

"Yes, and they're probably open all night anyway, like most of Vegas. Both of you go. I'll be safe here."

After they'd gone, Gunnar went out too. It was true, he'd be safe in the Lucky 38. He also guessed he'd be fairly safe on the Strip, between his growing reputation, his Securitrons, and in armor, packing heat. He wasn't intentionally deceiving them; but it was close to Christmas, and he'd rather keep his surprises to himself until then.

~ ~ ~

"But this is for Gunnar Volk," Arcade repeated.

"I'm sorry, sir, but rules are rules. Without rules, polite and civilized society would break down," the receptionist said. He looked at Arcade and Boone as if they were far too low on the social stratum to understand. "Please tell Mr. Volk that our dress code is strictly enforced, but we welcome Mr. House's successor when he wishes to dine here."

"And where can he get such an outfit?"

While Arcade talked to the receptionist, Boone looked around the place. Too high class for his taste, but maybe Gunn would like it. Arcade could probably blend in too. A couple in fancy clothes entered, the receptionist recognized them and let them walk through the black-and-gold doors to the club proper. 

Arcade finished up at the front desk and rejoined Boone. "We need to get him those clothes," he said, "but he can come over anytime. No reservation needed unless he wants to eat in the club restaurant, and it doesn't sound like he'll get in there anytime soon."

"Maybe when he's king of New Vegas," Boone said, after they'd left the club for the less snootified air of the Strip. 

"King of Vegas!" Arcade found that amusing. "I don't think he'll take that title, even if it's what he becomes in all but name. I got the name of the woman that specializes in this type of clothing. Why don't we check it out? If nothing else, get an idea how many caps we'll have to lay out."

"We? All three of us?"

Arcade considered. "You don't want to see what the desert's fanciest club looks like on the inside?"

"Just seems like a lot of money to lay out for a visit, and you and I aren't likely to do anything if we come along."

The store was about to close, but Arcade tried: this was for Gunnar Volk, soon to be leader of all Vegas, heir to Mr. House, and he needed some nice clothes to visit the Ultra-Luxe.

"The Ultra-Luxe?" the woman said, skeptical. "Mr. House never goes anywhere. Never leaves the Lucky 38."

"This is Mr. House's heir," Arcade said. "And he's already visited the Tops and the Gomorrah. The Ultra-Luxe dress code —"

"I know all about it," she said. "But I'm closing now. Come back tomorrow at noon. I'll see what I can do. And he has to be here if he wants a proper fit."

~ ~ ~

"You might even have fun," Arcade said, as they entered the 38.

"Ever time he visits a club, people die," Boone pointed out. "They may not want him to visit if this keeps up."

"Not _every_ time — hello, Raul."

"Morning," Raul rasped. He carried a large toolbox in one hand and a tarp over his other shoulder.

"What're you up to? Late at night for repairs, isn't it?" Boone asked.

"Gunnar asked if I could look at the old TV sets in the suites. See if they can work at all," Raul said. "Said I could do it whenever I wanted, so here I am."

"I didn't think any of those worked," Boone said. "They were broken in the war."

"And I was there, menso, so don't tell me what happened." Raul shifted the tarp. "Besides, boss is paying me, which is better than my last gig."

Boone checked for Gunnar in the master suite, then looked at Arcade in the hallway. "Yeah. He's asleep."

"For once we don't have any worries. Good." Arcade yawned. "I'll see you two in the morning, then."

"Sure." Boone watched Arcade leave, then went into the master suite himself. Three fancy suits. Arcade was out of his mind if he thought Gunn would shell out for that. 

~ ~ ~

"Why not?" Gunn said. "I think it's a great idea."

Boone looked as though he'd just encountered a very disgusting smell. Arcade grinned.

"But we'll see if we can rent something first," Gunnar said. "I don't know how often I'll actually want to go over there."

"Cheer up," Arcade said, slapping Boone on the back. "Maybe they won't have anything that fits you."

~ ~ ~

They did, because of course since he didn't want to go, there'd be a suit in his size.

"What's the point in me altering these and then you returning them?" the seamstress argued with Gunn. "By the time I alter suits for the big one and the tall one, I can't rent those out to anyone else."

"I'm sure you could," Gunnar said, "but how much for the alterations to fit?"

"I bet we could pass you off as a high-class bodyguard," Arcade murmured to Boone. The two of them sat in rickety chairs along the wall while Gunnar and the seamstress haggled. 

"What does that make you, his date?" Boone muttered back.

Arcade startled. "I…"

"Yeah. It was a dumb idea."

"No, it — "

"Okay," Gunn announced, clapping his hands together. "Let's get this taken care of."

~ ~ ~

"Well, _you're_ not going to be his date if you keep trying to scare people with that face," Arcade muttered later, trying on shoes. Why he couldn't wear his own — 

"You could hardly be a bodyguard. You're a Follower, of all things." Boone got to wear his own boots since nothing for rent in the shop fit. "You used a grenade on a — "

"I said stop bringing that up."

"What're you two whispering about?" Gunnar asked, checking the selection of hats. 

"How we announce ourselves so we get the best seats," Arcade said without batting an eye.

~ ~ ~

Gunnar decided to skip the hat, but it was a close thing before Arcade and Boone convinced him not to get that poufy hairstyle again. "This is high society," Arcade insisted. "Not Freeside."

"Maybe I could've started something. But fine, take all the joy out of an evening. Craig, see, you look fine."

"So do you." And Gunnar was more of the build to carry the look. So was Arcade. Boone still looked like a soldier, even in formal wear.

"Now it may be that you guys have to cool your heels in the casino or elsewhere," Gunnar said. "It should be okay, though. I really don't want to kill anyone this time around."

"Told you so," Boone said, out the side of his mouth.

"What?"

"Nothing," Arcade said. "I agree wholeheartedly. It'd be a shame to get blood on these suits. I don't think we could return them."


	24. Tuxedo Junction

Gunnar really, really didn't want to kill anyone tonight. Just once, he thought, let this be a decent visit without bloodshed. 

It would have been better if they'd had any kind of vehicle to drive them to the Ultra-Luxe, but without horses or cars, everyone got to walk. At least he was stepping out in style, as best in his rented suit as he could look. Boone still looked like he would rather chew off his own hand than go, but Arcade had the right spirit.

"It's likely the only time I'll ever get to go in there," he said, as they began their walk from the Lucky 38 to the Ultra-Luxe. "Even if we're going at noon instead of at a more appropriate hour for dinner."

"I'd rather go when they weren't busy," Gunnar said. "Since I'll have to talk to someone about the current state of affairs."

"They're supposed to be very exclusive," Arcade said. "You have to make reservations months in advance, that sort of thing. The food's supposed to be excellent."

Excellent but local, Gunnar thought. There were things he missed and doubted he'd ever get to taste again: strawberries, pumpernickel bread, ice cream. He missed ice cream a lot. In theory it was easy to make — you just needed ice, cream, sugar and salt — but without refrigeration there wasn't much of a dairy industry in the Mojave. Maybe California still had some kind of cheese or butter industry; he'd have to look into that. 

They attracted attention as they walked, of course. How could they not? Three well-dressed men — dapper, even — and he was the lately famous Gunnar Volk, determined to free Vegas from all outside influences. He shouldn't let it go to his head, but it was flattering to be greeted: "Hello, Mr. Volk," and "Looking good, Mr. Volk" and so on. He tucked his arm into Boone's and smiled. It was a good afternoon.

~ ~ ~

Once inside, it was hard to not stare. The Ultra-Luxe really was the nicest of the three clubs in terms of refinement. Classical violin music piped from hidden speakers. The place was clean, despite its obvious age, and they'd made an effort to fix up the place. There was a working fountain and actual plants inside.

So the White Gloves want to be seen as the ultimate in taste, Gunnar thought. They were doing a good job.

Of course they had to check weapons at the door. Gunnar hadn't brought the barn gun, just the Duzi, but everything was turned over anyway. All the clubs required weapons checking. But here, not so much for safety, as because it would look gauche. Lower class.

"We can spread out a little," Gunnar said, when they were in the club proper. "Take a look around. I've got to find the owner. Try not to run up a tab, I hate to think what the prices are."

The staff all wore masks — full carnival type masks, with the lower half a perfect solid white doll face, the top half a classical domino mask style. It was more creepy than mysterious. How did you know who you'd actually talked to.

"We could, but we shouldn't get separated," Boone said. "Too easy to get lost in a strange place."

"I suppose so."

There were well-dressed people here, in faded finery, a very few in something newer; because, Gunnar thought, the tools or machines to make such finery had to be reinvented, or rebuilt, or at least get power to them; and then there were the raw supplies. What good was a working factory if you didn't have raw materials to feed into it? It had taken humanity thousands of years to achieve automation and economies of scale, and within one day had wiped it all out again.

"Let's find the restaurant," Gunnar suggested. "And take a little tour of the place."

No slot machines in the casino; only roulette and blackjack tables. No hookers, either. The Ultra-Luxe was the opposite of the Gomorrah. Despite the rules and the expense, it seemed there was no shortage of people who wanted to be seen as the better sort, by coming here instead of the other options on the Strip. It was a little too stuffed-shirt for everday, but Gunnar could appreciate the effort, after what he'd seen.

Boone stuck with Arcade and Gunn for a little while, but it sounded like they wouldn't get into the restaurant anytime soon. Now some busybodies with more money than anyone had a right to had discovered _the_ Gunnar Volk, and they all made a nice little circle, discussing the state of the Strip and the upcoming war and what plans did Mr. Volk have and so on. Arcade was on the fringe of that group — of course he would be, he was a political wonk. 

Boone strayed to the bar in the center of the lounge, hoping for some corn nuts or tortilla chips or something to snack on. "What can I get for you?" the masked bartender asked.

Good thing Carla hadn't worked here, or they'd never have met. Then again, she might still be… "Beer," he said.

Local beer, it turned out, even if it was a recycled bottle with a new label on it, and not bad. The price hit harder than the drink did, though — four times the usual rate for a beer on the Strip.

"This _is_ the Ultra-Luxe, sir," the bartender sniffed. "Only the finest foods and beverages are served here, and exclusivity has its price."

Boone paid for the beer and decided that was all he was going to have. They didn't even have any snacks. Gunn had better have brought plenty to pay for this meal.

Boone looked around and saw a middle-aged man, dressed in a New California country suit, and his bodyguard was armed. Boone was already annoyed by having to dress up; he knew money had its privileges, and apparently one of them was being able to flout the rules. Gunn should be allowed the same thing as some big shot from out West.

Boone sauntered over to the man. "H'lo," he began, with the slight drawl he no longer allowed himself.

"H'lo yourself," came the reply. "Beg your pardon, stranger, but I'm looking for someone. You ain't seen a young man with dark brown hair and a white hat on lately, have you?"

"No, I haven't." Boone couldn't remember any man with a hat in this place. Some of them women had these delicate little things on their heads, but only the man in front of him wore one, and a cowboy hat at that. 

The man sighed. "Ain't nobody got one darned piece of news about my boy? Not one lousy speck of information? Ain't got one Brahmin unaccounted for across a dozen ranches, but I'm here for an hour and my own son just up and disappears on me."

"You're a rancher?" Boone asked. Must be someone big to break the rules with money alone.

"Yep, got a whole mess of brahmins to my name. Bighorners, too. Used to just have the one ranch, but land was easy to grab before the soldiers moved in. Before I knew it I was running one of the biggest ranching operations east of California. Now everywhere I go, folks I never even met shake my hand and call me 'Mr. Gunderson.' Don't know quite what to make of that."

Boone understood that, since it was happening to Gunn. He understood the man's pride in being a success out there, too. "Is that why your bodyguard's allowed to have a gun?"

Gunderson nodded. Fierce pride there, yep. "Made me a special arrangement with the hotel. They want to do business with me, they got to play by my rules. Lot of people out there resent success, might wanna take a swipe at me. This makes them think twice. If I'd have been thinking, though, I'd have had him watching my boy instead. Then none of this would've happened."

Something in Gunderson's tone didn't sound right. "He's not just playing the tables or visiting the Gomorrah?" Boone asked. 

"He wouldn't go to that cesspit. Ted's a good California boy, brought up right." Gunderson leaned toward Boone. "He was right here. I didn't leave him but a minute. I told him to stay put while I talked some things over with the White Glove folks. He never was one to stay tied down to a spot, though. Gets that from his mother. Got most of my staff out looking for him now. I'd be out myself, but I keep hoping he'll show up back here. Course if he does that I'll whup him till his skinny hide turns to leather for putting me through this. But that don't mean I wouldn't be grateful."

"How old is he?"

"Nineteen."

Boone suspected the kid was off playing with some girl on his visit to the big city, but he also understood the terror of not knowing where a loved one was. "Tell me what he looks like. I'll help look for him."

Gundersoon shook Boone's hand. "I'd be more than happy to have you. Heck, I'll hire anybody with a pair of legs and at least one good eye at this point. But I can tell from your voice, you're from the same territory we are, and that makes you good people. There'd be a lot of money in it for you if you can get him back to me safe. And if he ain't, you can bet I'll pay for the names of the sons of bitches responsible."


	25. Den of Iniquity

_If I were a nineteen-year-old ranch hand, and my rich Daddy brought me to Sin City on business, and I got a chance to sneak off, where would I go?_

Boone had been nineteen not too many years ago and could easily picture this. The kid would've snuck out of the hotel, gone to visit the fleshpots of the Strip, possibly gotten drunk or slipped a mickey, and rolled by a hooker or mugged. That exact sequence of events hadn't happened to Boone, but some elements had, and he knew people who'd experienced the rest.

If this had happened to Ted Gunderson, his Daddy's men would find him soon enough, and he'd get to experience the shame of it for some time to come. Heck Gunderson was still vigorous enough to carry through on his promise to whup Ted.

Boone didn't want to leave the hotel, not in this getup. There was still a chance the kid was here, maybe in a hotel room with some high-class young lady who wanted to rebel with a brahmin baron's son — and, Boone thought cynically, get a payoff afterward to go away and not talk of this to anyone.

In fact, that made more sense than sneaking out. Ted was probably still here somewhere, so he could legitimately claim he'd never left the property. Just wanted to get out from under his old man's thumb. Boone could sympathize.

So Ted wasn't out in the open anywhere, that was a given. Where could someone hide in this hotel? Probably lots of places. 

He should check in with Gunn and Arcade, see what they thought. Three could cover a lot more ground in the search.

He found them at the desk near the Gourmand, the fancy restaurant. It looked like all but two tables were empty.

"Why yes, of course!" The woman talking to Gunn spoke in posh tones, and she had an air of real superiority about her; she had power here. "The White Glove Society is the most exclusive club in all of New Vegas. Perhaps the entire world. Originally we didn't allow anyone else in, you see. Founding members only. We thought exclusivity would make us the envy of everyone who's anyone. And it has. But then I had the idea to allow honorary members. Lower in status, naturally, but it just makes people want to be here even more. And the right people could certainly do wonders for our image. Celebrities, philanthropists. We want only the very best. And you most definitely fit the bill. Given your deeds on the Strip alone, I can safely say that you would be a prized addition to our honorary ranks, Mr. Volk."

Gunn ought to get along just fine with these people, if they didn't talk each other to death. Boone kept his distance from the discussion, pretending to read an old newspaper article framed under glass. There was more talk, Gunn was given a key to the Members Only parts of the hotel, and he was invited to dinner at 7 pm that night with the rest of the White Gloves. The mention of dinner reminded Boone that he hadn't had lunch yet. 

"Can we get some food now?" Boone asked. Everyone turned to look at him. 

"Do you have a reservation?" the woman asked.

"No."

"I'm truly sorry, but there's simply no way we can fit you in."

Boone looked at the nearly empty restaurant. "There's plenty of tables there."

"They're all reserved for guests of the Ultra-Luxe, members of the White Glove Society, and others who have reservations."

Boone narrowed his eyes. "That's bulls — "

"Thanks very much for your help," Gunn interrupted loudly. "We'll be back for dinner." 

"Very good, sir." She turned away to answer another guest who'd walked up. Gunnar and Arcade approached Boone. "If you're rude to the help, they're less likely to help," Gunnar said in a low voice, steering Boone around a corner and behind a large potted (live!) plant. "It just encourages them to blow you off."

"You can't tell me they can't serve us," Boone said.

"Maybe not, but we can go find something outside if we have to, and come back later."

Boone changed topics. "So how's it going for you and your new friends?"

"You'd find it very boring," Arcade said. "A lot of talk, though I had a great dialog with a former mayor of — "

"I believe you," Boone said. "Gunn?"

"It's a nice place," Gunnar said. "More upscale than the Tops, but the Tops doesn't discriminate against people. Or not in the same way."

"So we can go?"

Gunnar shook his head. "We've got this dinner at seven. All the White Gloves will be there. I hope to talk to them about supporting me in the upcoming war, or at least not actively hindering me. It's my best chance to get them all to listen at the same time."

Sounded distinctly political and not at all fun. "Okay. It seems safe enough in here. After we grab a bite outside, I'm gonna take off for a while."

Gunnar looked hurt. 

"Gunn, this isn't my place. You and Arcade… have… a good date, or whatever."

"Craig…"

"Hey, I can go back to the 38," Arcade said. "It's okay."

"No, look… you two like this place, you're getting along with everyone. I think you'll be okay, as long as you don't get cricks in your necks from looking down your nose."

Gunnar and Arcade both smiled, but differently than each other. "If you're sure," Gunn said.

"Yeah, I think I am. I'd just bring the party down. You two go on and…" Boone finished by shrugging.

"Craig." Gunnar stepped forward and kissed him. "Thanks," he whispered. 

"Just convince these people of whatever you have to," Boone said. "And don't drink any booze."

Gunnar rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"Arcade, I'm serious about that. Don't let them serve him any liquor."

"I know, I know, he gets sick."

More like Gunn would get silly and weird, or worse. "Besides," he said, "Arcade can cover better for you if you remember something."

"…Yeah." Gunnar wasn't thrilled about that possibility. "Craig. Seriously. Thank you."

"Sure." It didn't even feel all that weird, letting Arcade and Gunn go off like this. Sure, it got Boone out of having to attend, and they weren't likely to try anything. But Gunn was actually happy about being here and talking to people. So was Arcade. It'd be okay. "Now can we get something to eat?"


	26. The Girl on the Police Gazette

"You're really sure about this?" Gunnar asked.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I'll even stay here in the Ultra-Luxe, in case I have to bail you out of trouble."

"You're not going to cause any trouble of your own, are you?" Arcade said. "Not to seem skeptical, but…"

"I won't burst in and cause a scene," Boone said. 

Arcade still didn't look convinced.

"Craig," Gunnar began, then seemed to change his mind. "We'll talk again later. But… thanks."

"Sure. Go talk them to death already."

Boone watched them go, then went to the bar. It looked like Ted Gunderson still hadn't returned, since his old man was still at the bar and talking with another of his hired hands. Hadn't returned and hadn't been found.

He'd promised to look for the kid, but hoped it would just be a case of stupid young man. He'd better get looking now. Boone rubbed his jaw. Maybe check in with the management, see if they knew anything about this.

The same woman looked up at Boone. She recognized him. _Remember what Gunn said._ "Welcome to the Ultra-Luxe," she said. "I do hope it exceeds your every expectation."

"It does," Boone said. "Um… I'm looking for someone who went missing here recently."

"This again?" She pursed her lips. "I thought all this was settled. I answered every one of that investigator's questions to his satisfaction and gave all the help I could."

Boone frowned. "What investigator?"

"There was an investigator who came through here last week. He'd been hired by a young man whose bride-to-be went missing during their stay here." She looked at Boone conspiratorially. "Well, you can already guess what probably happened, can't you? It seems perfectly likely that she got cold feet and ran off. And that young groom just didn't have a clue, the poor dear."

Ice gripped Boone's heart. _She probably just ran off._ No.

"I'm investigating someone else," he said, voice hard. "A man. And he just recently went missing."

"A man?" She stared at him. "Well, then, this… well, this can't be. Two disappearances in my hotel? What will people say?"

"They might say people shouldn't come here or they'll disappear into bloody chunks."

"Sir." She drew herself up sharply, but never lost her poise. "I know our reputation hasn't always been spotless, but that's all in the past now. How some people can't get over it is beyond me. For the last time, the White Glove Society has never and will never consume human flesh for any reason. It's written in the charter."

Now it was Boone's turn to stare. "You people were cannibals?"

"Now, didn't I already tell you that we don't do that sort of thing?" She looked at him as though he were a stupid child. "We do not engage in cannibalism here under any circumstances."

"But you weren't always the White Gloves, were you?" Boone said. "Mr. House brought three tribes out of the desert and made them the Families of the Strip."

He'd struck a nerve. "There was another time, a dark time, when we went by a different name." She spoke diffidently. "But that's all changed now! We've… evolved past such base impulses since settling into our new home. I've seen to it that those days are behind us."

"Is the investigator still around?" Boone asked. He'd gone stone-faced at her news; it was the safest face to present.

"Why yes, I think so. If he hasn't checked out yet, that is. Byron Pipp is his name, I recall." She brushed at her perfectly styled hair. "I had our maitre d', Mortimer, offer him a complimentary room for as long as it took for him to be satisfied." She folded her hands on the counter, still elegant. "You see? The White Glove Society remains the very picture of courtesy, even in the face of such impolite accusations. We have nothing to hide here."

~ ~ ~

Gunn and Arcade were probably safe as long as they stayed together. Gunn had made it through Legion assassins and the Omertas, he could do this too. But the missing bride and the Gunderson kid, they…

Boone kept the nausea down. That lady, Marjorie, the head of the White Gloves, she probably wouldn't let him ask around if she were hiding anything. Probably. But it couldn't be a coincidence that two people had gone missing recently. And what if it wasn't just two?

The maitre d', Mortimer, looked at Boone as though he were an unfortunate brahmin turd that had appeared on the carpet. "Yes? How may I be of service, sir?"

"What can you tell me about the White Gloves?" Everyone here was talky. Maybe he'd spill something.

"My, such a popular question. I suppose it is only natural to see us and wonder what it is that makes us special." The guy preened like he was God's gift to mankind. "The White Glove Society has only just made itself known to the public, of course, but our pedigree was established over generations. Were we always so refined? I'd be lying if I said yes. But I've always felt we were destined for a place atop modern society. And now, here we are."

Boone disliked the guy already. But he had some kind of power here, and Boone had to keep calm, at least until he could safely do otherwise. "So you guys consider yourself the top of the list?" he asked instead.

"But of course!" Mortimer smoothed his thin mustache. "Not everyone can wear the finest clothes and eat the finest foods, obviously. That's just the reality we live in."

"Fine. Marjorie said you gave a free room to a private investigator."

"Private investigator… Ah, yes. I remember the gentleman." Mortimer tapped the countertop, deep in thought. "This was about the missing bride. Such an awful thing. I do hope he finds her whereabouts." He looked up at Boone. "If I might pry, have you found something that will help his investigation?"

"I just need to talk with him." See what he might have found out. At this point, Boone prayed the runaway bride really was just that.

"Of course, of course. Ordinarily, we don't give out guest information, but I think given the circumstances, and since Marjorie has spoken…" Mortimer checked the guest registry. "Let's see… he hasn't checked out yet. If you head back to the hotel rooms, his will be one floor directly above you after you exit the lobby."

~ ~ ~

The investigator wasn't much help to Boone, as he lay sprawled dead on the hotel room floor.


	27. "Murder!", He Says!

Boone checked the corpse; cold, in rigor. He'd been dead for hours from what Boone could tell. Shot with a 9-mil through the heart. There were any number of reasons why nobody had heard it; but now the trail was cold as the corpse. 

Marjorie and that Mortimer would have to clear out a dead body, assuming they didn't want to serve it up for lunch. Boone sat in the room's easy chair. Even the furniture here was nicer quality than any he'd seen except at the 38, which had been sealed up for decades. 

Byron Pipp had found out something, that was certain. No reason to kill the man unless he was getting too close to the truth. And that truth was probably that the White Gloves had bloody hands.

Boone checked over the body again. Maybe there was something left behind, here or in the room, something that could give him a hint…

Under Pipp's body was a matchbook. Boone picked it up. Just a matchbook. He flipped it open and read the cramped handwriting there: _Steam rm 4pm_

Steam room, 4 p.m. There were no clocks here but enough people still had self-winding watches… yes, Pipp had one. Boone took it — he still had time to get down there. Maybe someone with information for Pipp, or a confrontation. Boone hated going into this unarmed, but didn't have a choice. He pocketed the watch and locked the hotel door behind him.

~ ~ ~

"I'm very impressed." Gunnar was. The Ultra-Luxe had a _pool!_ An actual swimming type pool! Guests lounged in swimsuits or the closest replications. Didn't seem to be anyone in the water, though. "Is swimming allowed?"

"Of course, if one wanted to display such athletics," said his conversation partner, a dark-haired young woman in a dress still intact with sequins. "There's a steam room, too."

The hotel must have a deal with the Kings, Gunnar thought, sipping his cola. A pool, a steam room, fountains, all in a desert? 

"I understand the salts for the pool were imported all the way from the ocean in California," she went on. 

"Really?" That sounded a little much, but _a pool_ and not a pond possibly filled with bugs or lurks or other nasties. 

Even Arcade seemed impressed, though probably by the extravagance rather than the opportunity. "That's a lot of water," he said, knocking back his own drink. "Can we return to somewhere a little less damp?"

~ ~ ~

There was a big underground pond down here, with clear water and lined with concrete. Boone studied it a little while. How did they keep it so clear?

Then he looked for the steam room. It wasn't in operation — that was a relief — he felt awkward enough without having to sit in this suit in a hot room. He ducked inside and waited. Almost 4 p.m. _Gunn better be all right._ Always too damn trusting…

~ ~ ~

At the appointed time, a sturdy man in full formal dress entered the steam room, pausing to look around nervously. "Who are you?" he asked, in a quavering voice.

"You first." Boone tensed.

"You don't know?" The man sighed in relief. "Good. That's good. So they didn't send you after me." He patted his receding hairline with a handkerchief. He wasn't wearing one of the Society masks. "Where's the gentleman I'm supposed to meet?"

"He's dead." Boone stayed half in shadow, just in case. 

"Oh my goodness me! They must know he was talking to someone on the inside. They'll be watching everyone closer now. I knew this was a mistake." He began to back out of the room, but Boone stepped forward and took hold of the man's arm. 

"What were you supposed to discuss here?" Boone asked.

"The girl. The one who disappeared. I know what happened to her."

"Where is she now?" Boone snarled.

"Don't hurt me! I wasn't involved!" the man pleaded. "I only distracted her fiance while they took her! I'm not proud of it, but I had to! They could see I was having second thoughts!"

Boone pulled the man completedly into the closet-like steam room. "You'd better start talking. What's your name."

"Chauncey."

"Where's the girl now? I don't want to ask a third time."

"I don't know! I think she escaped."

"You _think_ she escaped? You fucking cannibal — "

"No! I'm not a cannibal! I swear it on my mother's grave!" the man pleaded.

"Then why did you kidnap a girl for a bunch of fucking maneaters?" Boone growled, teeth bared.

"I didn't do it, I swear! Look, it's only a small group who wants to do that! Some of the White Gloves began meeting privately a while back, talking about how we'd lost our identity when we went posh. I started attending because I thought it was about changing our politics. Then they started talking about returning to the old ways, and there was no way out. They'd kill me for the things I'd heard them say."

"I don't believe you."

"It's true! What can I say to convince you?"

"Who's in charge of this — group?"

"Mortimer. The White Glove Society strictly forbids eating humans. But we weren't always the White Glove Society."

Boone let go of the man, who patted the sweat away from his face again. "Mortimer and some of the others have… regressed… to the old ways. They've taken many people over the last few months. But always from Freeside or secluded places, where they wouldn't be missed. It wasn't enough. Lately they've gone for tourists here on the Strip. Even in the hotel."

"You fucking piece of shit," Boone spat. "You tell me this and then say you had nothing to do with it?"

"I didn't eat it! I want out of this as much as anyone!"

Which was possible. If he'd seen and heard too much, he'd probably be next on the table. "Ted Gunderson. Did you snatch him?"

"I didn't. But they did. To replace the girl."

Rock-stupid of them to snatch the son of a powerful brahmin baron. "Is he still alive?"

"As far as I know. They're trying to keep him fresh. Mortimer has special plans for him."

"What do you mean, 'special plans'?" 

"The White Glove Society has a banquet twice a week. It's in our private section, only for members. Mortimer wants to reintroduce humans into our cuisine. Since eating people is a crime we punish by death, he's going to do it in secret. After everyone has eaten it he'll tell them. With no real way to punish _everyone,_ in Mortimer's mind, anyway, their minds will be open to the idea of eating people as a delicacy."

The thought of burning this entire place down was very, very tempting. These — they weren't even people. Monsters. "And that's what Ted Gunderson is supposed to be? Dinner?"

"Exactly."

"But you said the Society will kill anyone who does this. Won't they kill him for doing it?"

"They might. But I think he expects they'll return to the old ways. Nothing is more important to the Society than to be on the cutting edge of New Vegas cuisine. Mortimer's idea will appeal to that need. He just has to get them over the taboo."

Boone wanted to punch the man and not stop, but he was probably on the level, even if he was still one of these sick fuckers. "Where's Ted now?"

"I don't know exactly. I wasn't in on it. I think some of them have stopped trusting me." Chauncey twitched a little at the sound of some people passing by outside. When he spoke again, his voice was low. "But you can bet they're keeping him near the Gourmand. Our chef, Philippe, has an obsession with fresh ingredients. It'd be back in the members only section, so you'll have to be careful. Don't be seen, and more importantly, don't let them see Ted in the open. It's guarded both at the lobby entrance and in the access tunnels leading from the main restaurant."

"Got it. And how do I stop them from doing any more of this?" Ideally, shoot Mortimer and any other leaders, because they'd just keep trying if their victims kept escaping.

"I don't know." Chauncey stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket. "I've wondered that myself. Once it happens, how can you stop any of it? So it has to be stopped ahead of time." He seemed to be puzzling it over. Boone was about to suggest Chauncey name names so they could be gunned down, but then the man snapped his fingers. "What if — what if his revelation were a lie? What if no one had eaten human flesh but him?"

"That still means Gunderson gets eaten."

"No, no. If you could… if you could get Philippe out of the way, and serve a convincing substitute instead… You could walk Ted right through the middle of that room after Mortimer speaks. And then he'd have some explaining to do."

Some 'splainin' to do, indeed. "You've got to be shitting me."

Chauncey spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Philippe has been trying to approximate the taste of human flesh for years. He must have a recipe somewhere."

"That's the dumbest — "

There was a small, hard noise, twice, and Chauncey jerked as though shot. He looked more surprised than hurt. Boone pushed past him and saw a masked Society member with a handgun. He threw himself at the man and tackled him to the ground. The White Glove brought up the gun, but Boone smashed it against the ground and it skittered away. He headbutted the Glove and then smashed the man's head into the hard tile floor, again and again, until his fury and disgust was spent. The blood oozed down the lines of tile and into the drain.

Boone left the assassin on the floor and went to check on Chauncey. He was dead, shot twice through the chest. Even if Boone hadn't taken down the killer, it wasn't likely he would have survived. He still looked surprised, even in death.

Dammit.

That was three bodies already today. If he didn't do something to stop these monsters, all he'd done was fill their larder for them. 

He dragged both bodies to the back of the steam room and searched them. Both wore the same style of formal coat; the killer's 9mm pistol had a silencer. Probably the same one that had shot the detective Byron Pipp upstairs. Boone checked the pistol; three rounds left. Chauncey had a key to the White Glove Society restricted area in his pocket; Boone took that too. Then, upon reflection, he took Chauncey's fancy coat and the killer's mask. Chauncey was closer to his build; at least he wasn't supposed to button the coat closed. The pistol went into the back of his waistband for now.

If this cook Philippe was supposed to… ugh… prepare Ted Gunderson for dinner, he'd know where the kid was being kept. _Should've asked when the next banquet is._ If it were tonight, he was running low on time.

… If it were tonight, Gunn and Arcade would probably be there as honored guests.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.


	28. Butcher Pete

"So what do you think?"

"I think I could get to like this kind of life, but it doesn't really suit me," Arcade said. "This is the upper crust, the people who made it. Often that happens by stepping on the backs of others."

"Not necessarily." Gunnar stretched out his legs before him. They sat in one of the groupings of easy chairs in a side lobby. "People can, and have, risen through doing right by others. It's unfair to tar all of them with the same brush. On the other hand, I get where you're coming from. This makes a nice vacation, but I don't know that I'd want to be here all the time."

"Exactly. This is… how can I put it." Arcade ran a finger under his collar to loosen it. "This has been educational, informative, and entertaining. But other than swaying the White Gloves to support you, why are we here?"

"Because the Ultra-Luxe pays taxes to the Lucky 38 — hey, that's right. When we get home, I should check with Yes Man and see what kind of money Mr. House saved up. Did he stockpile it all, or was it doled out in any way? Besides hiring couriers and messengers, that is. Was it used for the common good?"

"For upkeep of the city?" Arcade shrugged. "I don't know. It's hard to tell exactly what's been kept up."

"So that's the other reason I have to make an appearance, is to keep the tax revenues coming in," Gunnar continued. "I wouldn't exactly call it a kleptocracy. Of course the tax monies are given to me by law, but I suspect if they could get away without paying me anything, they could. Therefore I have to have the show of force, like I did with the Omertas, to guarantee the taxes still coming in. Then redistribute the taxes as needed to show I'm not just some warlord — " Gunnar stopped. Arcade, head resting on one hand, watched him with dreamy eyes. "Arcade?"

"Go on," Arcade said. "I'm fascinated."

~ ~ ~

Boone couldn't wear his beret and shades while wearing the White Gloves mask. The shades went into an inside jacket pocket, the carefully-folded beret into a trouser pocket, and then the mask went on.

It wasn't easy to see through this thing, and the tiny air holes in the nose were less than useful, but he could deal with those. More important, nobody paid him any attention while he wore the mask. He was some truly faceless worker.

Get down to the kitchen, free the Gunderson kid somehow. Get this resolved before the dinner started. Or get Gunn and Arcade out of here somehow.

He passed another masked staffer at the bottom of the stairs. They nodded at each other, and Boone reached the kitchen. The cook was there, stirring something on the stove, and Boone had to admit the smells here hinted at some very good food to come.

"Hey," he began.

The cook looked up at him. "What're you doing standing there? Do you think that the world waits for you while you you stand there drooling? Get back out there and get to work!"

"What the hell's your problem?" Boone said. 

"Hello?! Are you deaf as well as stupid? Do you know who I am?" He didn't wait for Boone to answer. "I'm the fucking god of New Vegas brahmin fusion cuisine, that's who. No, that doesn't even give me the credit I deserve. I fucking _invented_ edible food!"

Boone removed his mask. "You're the guy who cooks up the food for the White Gloves? The special food?"

"I am, so who the fuck are you? You owe me your entire goddamned garbage existence, moron!" The chef threw the towel in his hand at Boone. "Get back to work!"

"Where's the Gunderson kid?"

"You don't fucking need to know that. Who the fuck are you, anyway?" Philippe edged toward the counter, where a large knife lay.

"Free the kid or else you'll be feeding the birds when I'm through with you," Boone snapped. He reached back to the pistol in his waistband.

Philippe grabbed the knife off the counter. Boone brought up the pistol, two-handed grip, fired once, and Philippe's left eye exploded in a bloody mess. 

The chef fell to the floor. Boone ducked behind the counter in case anyone had heard the silenced shot. Nobody came in.

How many more of these bastards could he kill before they stopped him? He only had two bullets left. Hardly enough to take down the entire society. He went through the chef's pockets. A ring of keys, some caps, a twist of — jerky? Boone flung it away from himself as hard as he could. Maybe it was just brahmin meat, but maybe it wasn't.

An intercom buzzed. It sounded exactly like the one from the Tops — that felt like it was ages ago — and Boone wanted to ignore it. But the chef would answer it if he wasn't dead. If he didn't answer, someone might come down to check on him.

He answered it. "Yeah?" He had no idea if he sounded enough like the dead man.

"Philippe, make sure tonight's main dish is the best you can possibly make it." It might be Mortimer on the other end, but Boone couldn't tell. "We have some very important persons at our banquet tonight."

 _Shit!_ "Sure, yeah, whatever."

"I mean it, Philippe! Larue is handling the sides and Carissa the desserts like usual. This must be an absolute masterpiece. Have you started yet?"

"Just did."

"Good, that'll give just enough time to make it as fresh as can be. Evan will be down at six-fifty to pick it up. Tonight, you and I will make history!" Mortimer clicked off.

 _Sonofabitch._ Boone checked his stolen watch. Could he get Ted Gunderson out of here? And then what? Go to Gunn and Heck Gunderson about this. Heck would be glad to get his kid back… assuming Ted was still alive. _Fuck._


	29. It's a Scandal! It's an Outrage!

Boone searched the kitchen. One door led to the pantry. Nothing in there that looked out of the ordinary. Another door, locked, led to a wine room. The bottles looked old as Vaults. Boone almost missed the third door the second time he passed it; it was locked, but one of the keys fit. He opened the door and felt for a light switch.

"My daddy's gonna kill all you bastards once he finds out what you done to me!"

That sounded like the kid of a rich brahmin baron. Boone found the switch and flicked on the light. Ted Gunderson lay hogtied on the floor.

At least the kid was still alive. Maybe it was only because they'd had to grab someone right away; or maybe some other reason, but Boone was glad of it. It normally took time to butcher anything human-sized. "Calm down," he said, voicing the drawl, "I've come to get you out of here."

"My Daddy sent you? Goddamnit, I almost died in here! What the hell took you so long? It's just one damn hotel."

"Son, if you don't show some respect, I'll bring everyone down here to see how you got hogtied and railroaded." Boone had had enough of other people's attitudes today. 

It seemed to work, a little bit. "Who did this to me, anyway?" Ted Gunderson asked. "They got a sack over my head before I got a look at 'em."

Damn. So he couldn't finger anyone who'd done it — and they all had masks on anyway. "I'll be right back." Boone went back to the kitchen for a knife to cut the ropes. So Ted Gunderson couldn't identify his attackers. The only people who could verify Boone's story were dead, some of them by his own hand. If he exposed Mortimer now… Ted would be alive, but the cannibals would just go underground and be more careful next time. According to Chauncey, they'd already snatched people and eaten them. They'd shown their hand by kidnapping hotel guests; they probably wouldn't be that stupid again.

Dammit.

Boone knelt by the Gunderson boy. "If I cut you loose," he said, "you have to sit tight here."

"Hell no! I'm getting out of here and my Daddy's gonna lynch anyone he can find who did this to me!"

"I haven't cut you loose yet," Boone said. "If you aren't gonna listen to me, I'm leavin' you here."

"Then what're you gonna do?"

"I've gotta get evidence of who did this to you. Then we get you out of here. Otherwise no justice is gonna happen."

That got through. "You got a point. If you don't know who did it, my Daddy's gonna be awful mad he ain't got anyone to shoot over this."

"I gotta get proof, that's all," Boone said, sawing the ropes. "So right now, I want you to just sit tight in here and stay quiet. Nobody should come lookin' for you."

It was the work of a few minutes before Ted Gunderson was free. "Why'd they kidnap me, anyway?"

"I don't know," Boone lied. "So just stay here and stay quiet. I won't be long."

He closed but didn't lock the freezer door. So… now what. He looked around the kitchen, then dragged Philippe's body into the pantry. Yeah, he'd better find some proof, or make some, before someone asked about all the bodies stacking up in this place.

Then he searched the kitchen, hoping he'd find anything that could help. There was a stack of recipes on the counter, handwritten, with a lot of notes and things on them. Boone flipped through those. It looked like the "Sweet Veal" recipe was trying to make the meat taste like people. Boone managed not to gag, but it was a close thing.

Still, this wasn't enough. If anything this probably proved Marjorie's point, that they were trying not to be cannibals… by making animal food taste like people? 

Boone stepped aside and retched into the sink, then ran the water as hot as he could stand and scrubbed his face and hands.

~ ~ ~

Halfway through the banquet, Arcade leaned over to speak quietly with Gunnar. "What do you think of the main course?"

"I think I've had this same flavoring on the trail. But it's the tenderest brahmin I think I've ever eaten. Very nice texture."

"I thought so too. The vegetables, those are interesting."

"I haven't had those in two hundred years," Gunnar said. Late fall vegetables, turnips, squash and potatoes. He hadn't liked turnips before, but now they weren't bad. They might even be better cooked than the meat, though compared to the old ways…

"Mr. Volk?" Marjorie asked.

"We were just discussing the fine quality of the dish," Gunnar said. "And your ability to get vegetables we haven't often seen in the Mojave."

"But of course. We contract out with only the best vendors of highest quality. Our chefs must have the freshest, best materials to work with — nothing old, unless it's meant to be, of course." 

Chuckles and laughter around the table.

"Be sure to save room for dessert," one Society member said. "I'm sure you'll find it wonderfully cleansing to the palate. Pinyon nut ice cream."

Ice cream. They had _ice cream._ Vanilla and chocolate were likely long, long gone, but suddenly Gunnar felt like he really hadn't had it for centuries. Yes. Definitely leave some room for dessert.

The waitstaff hadn't yet appeared to take away the main course dishes when Mortimer stood and bowed to the attendees. It looked like Marjorie hadn't planned this, Gunnar thought.

"I know I'm not the scheduled speaker, but I have a few words, if I may," Mortimer began. "There was a time not so long ago when we were bound together not as members but as family. As a clan. And when Mr. House came to us with his proposal, we accepted, knowing we stood to gain much." He gestured to Gunnar, who acknowledged him with a nod. "Little did we know how much we'd lose in the process."

Everyone was watching him now, many of them curious what he would say. 

"As a society, we've endeavored to sample the finest food and drink the world has to offer. But we are living a lie. There is a meat sweeter than the most cornfed livestock. Most of you have tasted it. All of you have coveted it."

Gunnar looked around. Dawning realization now replaced the curious looks. 

"What's he talking about?" Arcade whispered.

"Among us, it is a crime to discuss a return to the old ways that unified our people. Tonight, that all changes. The taboo ends." Marjorie began to speak out, half standing. "Let me finish, Marjorie.

"You don't know it yet, but you are all now guilty of a greater crime. One that ordinarily bears the harshest of punishments. Surely that you are all guilty warrants not only universal amnesty but also a renewed discussion." He looked significantly at Gunnar now, before opening his arms to encompass all the diners, who began talking among themselves.

"Oh my God," Arcade groaned. He sounded like he might be sick.

Mortimer raised his voice to be heard above the babel. "For our society to be truly elite, we must dine on the most delicious, the most exclusive food known to us. And tonight, for the first time as a society, you are sampling that very dish, the meat we are forbidden to taste, the way it was meant to be eaten!" Mortimer raised his wine glass. "Fellow members of the White Glove Society, bon appetit!"

Gunnar also stood, eyes narrowed, but then a voice boomed through the banquet hall. 

"Bad news, Mortimer! No one's eating the boy you kidnapped tonight."

Everyone turned to see Boone striding to the table, followed by an equally angry-looking young man.

Mortimer gaped, then tried to recover. "What are you— ? Why is he there? Who are we eating right now?"

"Who?" Marjorie said indignantly. "Mortimer! This is against all of our bylaws! I can't believe you!"

"Sorry, Mortimer," Boone growled. "Secret recipe. It isn't human, though, I can tell you that."

"You were gonna serve me up and _eat _me!" the young man yelled in a rage.__

__"No! These are lies! I never kidnapped anyone. And even if I did, there's no harm done. He's alive, after all." Mortimer backed away from the table._ _

__"Too late, Mortimer," Gunnar said. "I've heard enough. Call for the Securitrons!" he shouted to the waitstaff, who hesitated, then ran._ _

__Mortimer made a run for the door. Boone brought up the pistol and fired twice. Mortimer tripped and fell, his leg bleeding._ _

__"Be quiet, all of you!" Gunnar shouted. The collective White Gloves Society stopped screaming and panicking and looked first to him, then to Marjorie._ _

__"Sharpshooter Boone." Gunnar's voice was hard as iron. "Please explain the situation. You two, take hold of that man," he pointed toward Mortimer._ _

__"He kidnapped Ted Gunderson here and some other people from the Vegas area," Boone said. "They planned to kill Gunderson and serve him as dinner tonight."_ _

__"For what purpose?"_ _

__"Excuse me, Mr. Volk," Marjorie said, standing to her full height. "I'm extremely sorry, and embarrassed, that this had to happen. I take the full blame for it. I should have seen the warning signs, that this was coming. You have my very deepest apologies."_ _

__"My Daddy's gonna see all of you hang!" Ted Gunderson couldn't contain himself any longer._ _

__Gunnar turned to the boy. "I'll ask for your side shortly," he said._ _

__"You're all hypocrites!" Mortimer shouted._ _

__Gunnar walked toward Mortimer, as a Securitron rolled into the banquet hall. "Sir!" the robot saluted Gunnar._ _

__"Sergeant," Gunnar said, saluting back. "Please place this man under arrest." He pointed to Mortimer._ _

__"What are the charges?" the robot intoned._ _

__"Kidnapping. Attempted murder. Food tampering with intent to deceive. Food tampering with intent to poison," Gunnar began. The Securitron's retractable arm reached down to Mortimer, who tried unsuccessfully to fight it off._ _

__"This isn't over!" Mortimer shouted._ _

__"Actually, I think it will be," Gunnar said. "Sergeant, make sure he can neither escape nor kill himself."_ _

__The procession of a yelling White Glove member being bodily dragged from the Ultra-Luxe by a Securitron, followed by guests and other Society members, would undoubtedly dominate the social gossip for some time to come._ _

__"Mr. Volk, this wasn't necessary," Marjorie pleaded. "We could have handled this quietly, without all this public display."_ _

__"Madam, you said yourself you should have seen this coming," Gunnar said. "That is on your head. But I intend to display full justice upon your former maitre d', since he did try to feed me human flesh in disguise. That's… despicable." That was a polite word for it, anyway._ _

__"Of course, Mr. Volk. But this — people won't want to come back here after this!"_ _

__"They will. People are fickle. They'll come back for the notoriety, and whisper whether it happened when they were here before. And it's not like there's anywhere else in town to go. Sergeant, shake him if he insists on shouting."_ _

__"Affirmative!"_ _

__"Ted! By God, Ted, you're alive!"_ _

__"Yeah, I'm fine. Quit your hollerin'. Ow!" He looked in surprise at Gunnar, who'd slapped him. "What was that for?"_ _

__"This is your father?" Gunnar asked._ _

__"I am, sir," Heck Gunderson said._ _

__"Teach your son how to respect others, including yourself. If he speaks out of turn, I'll have him arrested for contempt."_ _

__"Who are you, sir, to talk that way?" Heck said, an angry flush coming to his weathered face._ _

__"I am Gunnar Volk, I am the ruler of New Vegas, and I am the law in this town. Now, if you don't mind," he turned to Marjorie, "I'd like my ice cream, please. To go, if that’s possible."_ _


	30. They're Hanging Me Tonight

Boone handed Arcade a glass of water. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Unnoticed in the chaos of the arrest and all the noise and shouting, Arcade had quietly thrown up under the banquet table. Now he and Boone sat at the far end, while Arcade recovered and the staff fretted about the carpet. "It wasn't really… was it?"

Boone shook his head. "Just some brahmin meat they had in the kitchen. Looked like good meat though."

Arcade still looked pale. "Okay. Just… that's disgusting. Inhuman. And these people — "

"Try not to think about it, if it helps." Boone didn't know what Gunnar would do about the White Gloves, but at least he'd taken down the cannibal leader and stopped a murder. 

"I don't want to think about it. But that's — and Mr. House — "

"At least you got dinner." It was a joke, but Arcade just turned green and bent over, head between his knees, breathing shallowly.

"Do you guys want ice cream?" Gunnar came over, holding three exquisitely wrought glass dessert dishes filled with ice cream, now starting to melt. Boone looked up at him. "Well, we can't take it home, because we don't have a freezer. Arcade, it might help settle your stomach."

"What is it, anyway?" Arcade said without raising his head.

"It's a custard made of eggs and cream and flavored with pine nuts and… probably honey," Gunnar guessed, "chilled because they're getting ice from somewhere. Probably from snowpack in the mountains since it's December. Anyway, here, eat it." He set a dish in front of each of them.

"You're calm," Boone remarked.

"I haven't had ice cream in two-hundred-four years and I'm not passing it up now. And things are more or less resolved." Gunnar sat in the chair next to Arcade. "Marjorie's going to clean house. You know Mortimer had help and if he doesn't cough up some names, she'd better."

"There are a few bodies that need to be taken care of," Boone said, then quickly added, "Not from Mortimer. I had to kill two people trying to kill me, and there's two others that they killed."

Arcade sat up and hunched over his dish of ice cream. "So much for not causing a scene."

"I couldn't get any evidence," Boone said. "I had to trap him in his own words. Everyone else who had anything got shot."

"Eat," Gunnar said. He'd already started.

~ ~ ~

Diary:  
 _  
"Modern" ice cream here is not the same as ice cream I remember. They don't have sugar like we do, and of course this is with brahmin milk (I hope… for all I know it's goat or who knows what) and so on, but it's still ice cream, and it's still good._

_Craig & Arcade seemed to like it. Arcade took it pretty hard that he might have been an accidental cannibal. I wouldn't want to be one either, but I think Craig handled it the best he could. Even if he did, as Arcade said, make a scene during one of my dates… again._

_I guess the only way to avoid that would be to go on a date with him. Actually that won't work, because he could still do that. (Make a scene) Ha._

_There is no jail in this town. No court. No judge. The Securitrons normally just shoot everyone breaking the law according to their preprogrammed parameters. So there actually wasn't anywhere I could put Mortimer to hold him for trial._

_So after the ice cream, I held a trial out on the street. I had no idea that many people would show up. It was amazing. Nothing else to watch in this town, I guess. Mortimer was pretty open about what he'd done, I guess he figured he'd give it a try, and the Gundersons were there too, and then the crowd was going to turn into a lynch mob if I didn't take action. So I did._

_I really didn't want to use the Securitrons for this because I didn't want their full capabilities known, and I didn't want to shoot the guy either. So I declared that Heck Gunderson got to decide his fate. (J.C. I sound like Caesar there. Not what I intended.) And we had a hanging right here in New Vegas._

_Still — it solved the problem — the Gundersons are happy — the townsfolk got to see good old-fashioned frontier justice — and everyone knows that we don't tolerate that kind of folk in this town. I know the word will get around to the Legion and the NCR and anyone else out here._

_Now wtg for Marjorie to hand over Mortimer's confederates (he did not name names in any attempt at clemency) and probably more hangings. Unfortunately Mortimer's execution will probably drive them underground, and until I have a jail built, I don't have many options._

_I need to fix up this town so much, but I can't dedicate time to it until the current threat is solved._

_To do:  
\- see about getting the deposit back on the suits  
\- talk to the NCR about the Fiends on the south side of town  
\- find a working fridge (hahahahah)  
\- maybe Raul can suggest something?_

_Had more but it's late and I need to check on everything before bed.  
_  
~ ~ ~

Gunnar left his office to find Arcade sitting in one of the easy chairs, arms crossed and frowning.

"What is it?" Gunnar asked.

"Nice job handling the accused," Arcade said. "It's good to see they get a fair trial and adequate representation before sentencing."

Gunnar rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand. "What would you suggest?" he asked wearily. "Because we don't have a jail. We don't have guards even if we had a jail. Even if we did, it's likely he wouldn't survive in there, because I've read of lynch mobs that did, in fact, tear down jails to murder the accused."

"I suppose you giving the choice of execution method to Heck Gunderson makes your hands any cleaner?" Arcade said. "You learned well from Caesar."

Gunnar raised a hand. "Don't start, Arcade."

"Why not?"

"I know full well this wasn't the ideal solution. I don't like it. Do you hear me? _I don't like it._ I don't like that this was a corruption of justice as I used to know it. It was frontier justice. But guess what? I'm the law here now! Me!" Gunnar poked himself in the chest. "Because Mr. House didn't have any other arrangements, and I didn't think about them until tonight, when it was too late to set anything up!"

"You could have turned him over to the NCR."

"For what? Please hold him in jail for me until I can get around to him?"

"The NCR has courts and a trial system — "

"And Mr. House's arrangement with them is that _he_ and he alone had full jurisdiction over the Strip. Since I inherited that, by takeover if by nothing else, that means I have that jurisdiction too."

"So you could have — "

"Could have done what?" Gunnar held out his hands. "Tell me, Doctor Gannon. Tell me what I could have done. What you would have done in that situation. An admitted murderer and cannibal, and facing a mob who was ready to stone him to death."

"You could have taken him to somewhere else, away from the mob, and dealt with him there."

"You mean a private execution? Secret in the dead of night? Come on, Arcade. You've read history too. At least this way was out in the open."

"Out in the open," Arcade repeated. "Yes. Public executions are always good for civic spirit."

"Arcade, it was a bad situation and I did the best I could at the time. It wasn't perfect. I know that. I know I have to set something else up so it doesn't happen again. What more do you want from me?" Gunnar really just wanted to stalk off and go to bed, but he couldn't. As much as he hated hashing it out, Arcade had a point.

"That it doesn't happen again," Arcade said.

"I think we're both agreed on that, aren't we? But I can't go back in time and change it. It's happened and I have to live with that."

"Boss." It was Raul. "There's people at the front door trying to get in."

"Nicely, or a mob?"

"They don't have pitchforks and torches."

Suddenly Gunnar truly appreciated someone from his own time who used the same metaphors. "Okay, let me come down and see what they want."

~ ~ ~

"Mr. Volk! I'm Belle Weather, news reporter. Do you have a statement for the people of the Mojave about what happened tonight?"


	31. Bad Bad Whiskey

_"Hey, hey, it's Mr. New Vegas letting you now my new Christmas compilation is out now on holotape: Nuclear Winter Wonderland. Look for it in many fine establishments. And now, the news. Following an unexpected trial and hanging of a confessed cannibal, New Vegas' new 'keeper of the keys' Gunnar Volk had this to say: 'I regret that this action was even necessary. It's never good to find this kind of aberrant behavior in your own back yard, but it should be rooted out wherever it's found.' Mr. Volk also said he plans to install a jail and courthouse early next year. 'While today's spectacle was necessary, I hope to bring us back in line with our civilized ancestors in 2282,' he said. More classics coming right up for you, so stay tuned."_

~ ~ ~

"How many for breakfast today, Mister Volk?"

Gunnar calculated. "Five, Yes Man." 

"Very good, Mister Volk! I also have a request from the New California Republic that you please visit Camp McCarran at your earliest convenience!"

"Thanks. Have Marilyn and Jane set the breakfast table in the penthouse suite, would you?"

"Sure thing, Mister Volk! Every order you give me just makes me so happy to be virtually alive!"

Gunnar eyed the happy, unchanging face on the monitor. "Are you _sure_ you weren't programmed for sarcasm?"

"Absolutely not! I couldn't possibly be of much help if I sounded sarcastic and hinting at my dissatisfaction with my work! Which doesn't exist, by the way! Dissatisfaction, I mean! I love getting new directives from you!"

"Good." Gunnar finished shaving and toweled off his face. He was running low on safety razors; he'd have to look for some more in the wastes. "Also, the White Glove Society is to be monitored but otherwise left alone. I understand there were some missing persons reported in the Strip in recent months. I need to hire someone to look into those."

~ ~ ~ 

Gunnar met with everyone else at the big table in the penthouse suite. "Thanks for coming, everyone — "

"What's she doing here?" Boone asked, jerking a thumb at Rose of Sharon Cassidy, kicking back in a chair and grinning like a hungry cat.

"Cass came in late last night and I offered her a place to stay for the moment," Gunnar said. "Cass, you already know Boone, this is Raul Tejada, and this is Arcade Gannon of the Followers."

"Glad to meet you all," Cass said. "So I get breakfast, too? You've really come up in the world."

"Thanks, and yes, if you're staying here, you get breakfast. Here's Marilyn and Jane."

"Good morning, Mister Volk," Jane said in her sultry tones. 

"Good mornin', everyone," Marilyn said in a more Southern-belle voice.

"Not sure I'd get used to that," Cass said.

Gunnar frowned at her.

"Be nice to the staff," Boone hinted, sotto voce. 

Gunnar waited for everyone to serve themselves before he continued. "With last night's… events, the three Families are taken care of as far as I'm concerned. The Chairmen and the Omertas will back me, and the White Gloves need to stay on my good side if they want to stick around."

"Yeah, I heard about that," Cass said, poking at her food with a fork. "So in their case, you didn't go to the courts, did you?"

Gunnar gave her a cool look. "I am the courts, Cass, on the Strip. Your situation was entirely within the realm of the NCR."

"I suppose so," Cass sighed.

"And actually, I wanted all of you here because I have a lot on my plate — figuratively," he said, looking down at the food in front of him, "and I need some of you to help me out with it all.

"Such as?" Arcade said.

"Such as, I still have to talk with the NCR. They sent a message last night that they want to talk with me, probably because I took power of the 38 and the Strip. Then there's the missing persons I want investigated, though I'm sure that was related to Mortimer, but it should be looked into in case it isn't. Then I have to deal with the Khans, and there are the Fiends causing a lot more trouble." Gunnar found the saltshaker and began to sprinkle some on his 

_"There has to be enough salt. We'll miss it afterward. We'll need salt in this place."_

_"Okay, I'll make sure there's enough in the cache for us. And maybe pack some into the locker. We're supposed to be able to take a few personal items with us when we go into cold sleep. …It'll be okay, really. Don't look like that."_

Gunnar came to, the saltshaker still in his hand but about to drop, and he kept his grip and set it down.

Arcade had noticed, he was sure, and probably Boone; whether Cass and Raul had, he didn't know.

"If I can suggest something," Arcade said, "the NCR knows about the Fiends and might have an idea where their lair might be found."

"And the Khans supply the Fiends with chems," Boone said. "They're the source of chems for the Mojave."

Gunnar didn't want to get involved in a major war with drug runners, not when Caesar was right on the doorstep. "The Fiends are trouble whether they've got drugs or not. If we take them out, we also take out a customer for the Khans, right?"

"That's true," Cass said. "But they'll still fight like all hell."

"Then I hope you're as good a shot as you claim," Gunnar said.

"Wait, what?"

"You didn't come back here just to say hi, did you, Cass?" Gunnar said. "You saw a wagon you could hitch yourself to and take a ride to something better. Right now you don't have much, and I'll bet you drank away your payment from Crimson."

"Hey, now — " Cass began angrily.

"If you want to stick with me, you have to work. You can stay here, you can get food and water here, but you have to work for me. I just said, I have a lot to do and only two hands. But you'll be compensated for it. So what'll it be?"

"I suppose I have to sing for my breakfast, too?" Cass said.

"No, that sounds more like dinner entertainment," Gunnar deadpanned.

"What about me, boss?" Raul rasped.

"I need you to work on more here at the 38, so you don't have to fight Fiends and crazies outside, unless you want to."

"I'm good here," Raul said. "Still workin' on that television thing for you."

Gunnar had eaten around the pile of salt he'd inadvertently poured onto his food. "Then I guess we're set. Boone, I'd like you along when I talk to the NCR. Arcade?"

"Yes?"

"Can you talk to the Followers and see what's needed to set up a properly working judicial system without getting too bogged down?"

"Why us?" Arcade asked.

"Because you're more compassionate than most, and I think any plan of the Followers would err on the side of mercy." Leaning on his elbows, Gunnar laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them. "I saw how they — we — handled some of those cases, and I think if we can clean things up in the city, in general, then there'll be less need for a jail and courts to begin with." 

"Does that make us your government officials?" Arcade asked.

"Not yet it doesn't. We'd have to get paid," Boone said.


	32. Dirty Old Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, elsewhere on the Strip...

"Talk to me, Jonesy."

"Volk's got two more people besides the big NCR guy and the Follower. He's got a ghoul working in there, who's been buying old electrical parts. And last night he got some girl in there," Jonesy reported.

Cachino sat up. "From where? Free agent or from one of the Families?"

"Neither," Fresca said. She twisted a lock of her hair around her finger. "I checked. She used to own a caravan company before Crimson bought her out. Now she's involved in a lawsuit against them and the Van Graffs."

"So she probably wasn't up there hooking," Cachino said. "Volk's got some other reason to bring her in."

"But I had that Follower doctor checked out," piped up Tortelli, an up and coming lieutenant who'd chosen his name from an old menu. "Turns out the Followers inducted Volk, and the doctor with him's a known blowfly."

"Really?" Cachino considered that. "Fresca, do we have anyone we could maybe send his way?"

"Not like that," she admitted. "Our girls and boys don't normally cater to the higher class."

"See if there's a freewalker out there somewhere who might like to set his or her sights on the mayor or whatever the hell title he's given himself."

"What about the blowfly?" Tortelli asked. "Volk took him to the Ultra-Luxe. Definitely together."

"With the NCR guy," Jonesy pointed out. "Looked like a bodyguard to me."

"And Volk took down the White Gloves, too," Fresca said. "One of their guys was a cannibal. I saw the hanging myself."

"We all did," Cachino said. "Volk isn't fucking around. We want to stay on his good side. So, Fresca, if you find someone you think can go up there, they've gotta be top of the line. You know the damn Chairmen are trying the same thing. And we want Volk to know who's sending him a nice new friend to keep him happy."

~ ~ ~

"How many people does he have over there now?" Swank asked, while he mixed himself a drink.

"Five. Boone, the Follower doctor, a ghoul mechanic and now this broad who used to own a caravan," Joey said. 

"Okay. And he's pissed at the White Gloves," Swank mused, then tested his drink. Smooth, just right. "Send him a message. Tell him the Chairmen are happy to provide him catering services, anytime he wants. Whether it's for a private party or a big swarry." That didn't sound quite right. Swarry? Swa-ray? "A big bash," he amended. "Discount rates, and we can provide entertainment as well. Pass that along to him."

"Got it, Boss."

"He liked our food when we were here, and I think he'll appreciate having some variety from whatever the 38's got in old pre-war foods," Swank said. He hoped so.


	33. V Stands for Victory

"Just how many Vaults _were_ there?" Gunnar griped, as he and Arcade left Camp McCarran.

"You were there when they began," Arcade pointed out. "You should know."

"I wasn't involved in anything more than sleeping in one," Gunnar said.

The Fiends were holed up in an old Vault, Number 3 as it turned out, and once again the NCR didn't really have the manpower to deal with them. Gunnar wondered what the heck the army was even doing here; it didn't seem to have manpower to do anything.

That was uncharitable, he told himself. The NCR wanted Hoover Dam, and they wanted New Vegas; and they were thwarted by both. The Legion at the Dam, which would end in someone's destruction, and Mr. House in Vegas, who had forced an unpleasant (from the California point of view) treaty that got Vegas the caps and the army a troublesome place for leave. Of course they'd want Vegas, as a moneymaking tool if nothing else, and it looked like they didn't want to let it go to dedicate full might to the Dam. It was a mess.

And now Gunnar had to decide what to do about the Fiends. "I have to do something about it," he continued, as he and Arcade walked back to the Strip.

"About the Vault?"

"The Fiends. If they're preying on people in Vegas, I have to put a stop to it. It would've been nice if the NCR could, but I suppose it's up to me." Gunnar scratched the side of his neck. "It might even work out better for me. The people of Vegas can see I mean business about protecting them."

"But it's a Vault," Arcade said.

And that was the problem, wasn't it — that Vaults could trigger memories, and if the situation had turned violent, that might be fatal for Gunnar. "But — "

"Look, we'll see what Boone and Cass say when they get back. Maybe you can delegate some or all of us to go in your name. You're busy with political work but sent your top people to take care of it."

"My only people, you mean."

Arcade shrugged. "You could send some of your Securitrons."

"No… I can't. Not yet. I need to save those for the Legion." And keep their impressive abilities hidden until then.

"Then you've got to hire someone or do it yourself, but I don't think that would be a good idea. Doing it yourself, I mean."

"I don't want to be just sitting around in the tower so I can be safe," Gunnar snapped. "I'm not locking myself away like he did."

"Mr. House?" Arcade looked sideways at him. "Nobody said you were."

No, but Gunnar understood — maybe — why someone would want to seal themselves away from outside pressures. "Okay. We'll talk to Boone and Cass. Maybe they can take care of a few things, and… maybe I can take care of some things here."

"That's better." Arcade patted him on the back. "I know you're trying to save the world, but it's okay to delegate once in a while. When the stories are told later, it'll be you doing all the fighting, single-handedly, without any of us even around."

"As if!" Gunnar chuckled.


	34. He's Got the Whole World in His Hands

Gunnar had set Victor the cowboy-Securitron up to guard the door of the Lucky 38, keep anyone else from entering, and take messages. It seemed the only good way to deal with this, without telephones, mail service or any other reliable communication.

Victor greeted Gunnar and Arcade upon their return and passed on the messages, written on scraps of paper to varying degrees of legibility.

"Anything good?" Arcade asked. Gunnar handed him a flyer that read _Hungry? Thirsty? Horny? The Atomic Wrangler has you covered!_ "Ah, yes, that fine establishment."

"And a request from Marjorie to please return at my earliest convenience to speak with her about the recent unfortunate events," Gunnar said, "and, oh, my sign is ready, so I have to get that delivered."

"See? More good reasons for you to stay in town." Arcade crumpled up the Atomic Wrangler flyer.

"Even the savior of the Mojave has to deal with everyday stuff." Gunnar opened a letter sealed in an actual envelope. Well, not really sealed; just tucked into itself. The glue had probably gone bad ages ago. "And the Tops welcomes my future business, and so on… looks like Swank wants to be my caterer from now on."

"You could probably get him and the Ultra-Luxe to compete on that."

"I'm sure." By now they were inside and in the elevator to the penthouse suite. "I hope I have enough time."

"What do you mean?" The elevator stopped and Arcade held the door open.

"To get things done before the Legion arrives. I need to get as many tribes and factions on board as I possibly can. And…" He checked his Pipboy. "And it's almost… almost the end of the year."

"Yeah, almost Christmas, too. You were asking about that."

First Christmas away from his family in… two hundred and four years. "Someday I'm going to remember everything," he said, half to himself, half to Arcade. "And when I do, I'm going to look for them."

"Who?"

"Whatever they left behind for me. I must have taken something into the Vault with me. Some memento. But when I woke up in Goodsprings, I had nothing. Not even — " Gunnar looked down at his left hand.

"Maybe you left whatever it was in a safe place. Or it was stolen. Or you had to sell it. Wouldn't be the first time any of those things happened," Arcade said. "Nothing is forever, and things get lost, or stolen, or… I'll… just see myself out."

No social skills, Gunnar thought bitterly. He went to the great glass wall, which was stained from dust and occasional rain and pitted from sandstorms, and clean on the inside but how would you ever clean the outside? Maybe someone was desperate enough to swing on ropes from the roof and try to scrub the thick glass.

He put a hand on the glass, cool and smooth to the touch, and looked out. This would be his kingdom, if he and it both survived. A kingdom of gambling and whores of all kinds, people struggling to survive in the ruins. A Roman who had slept through the Fall and barbarian invasions might look out over his city two hundred years later and feel the same loss and despair.

Gunnar doubted he could stop the gambling and prostitution and drinking; besides, while he didn't care for them himself (though he'd drunk alcohol, before…), they were indeed what Vegas was known for. And even if he criminalized those behaviors, they wouldn't stop. At least this way he got the sin taxes. His lip curled a sour smile at that thought.

So, take the taxes, and fix up the city. There was so much rubble. People just squatting in whatever shelter they could find. He needed police of some kind, and of course oversight to make sure they didn't become just another gang. People who could build; he had the labor force of people who could use the work. Infrastructure. Postal service. Some kind of legal system.

So damn much to do.

Arcade was right; he had to delegate. And most of this couldn't be fixed until after the Legion was dealt with, so no point making plans until then, no matter how much he wanted to get started. Deal with the Legion, deal with the NCR who would likely make a play for Vegas if they saw an opportunity. Deal with many devils and hope he still had all his fingers at the end of it.


	35. The Sign of the Ponix

Gunnar was outside directing the placement of the new sign outside the Lucky 38 when Boone and Cass returned. "What's that supposed to be?" Boone asked, pointing.

"It's… a sign?" Gunnar looked at it too.

"Very funny. It looks like some kind of bird."

"Yeah, I've seen one kinda like that," Cass said, cocking her head on one side. "It's a ponix."

Gunnar took a moment to figure out what she might mean. "A phoenix?" he guessed.

"No, a ponix. I saw the sign next to the bird shape. That was back in California, near the border."

That wasn't the symbol Gunnar had intended, but if it was what the locals saw, he'd go with it. "The phoenix, or ponix, is a symbol of rebirth. Rising from the ashes. And before you ask, Vegas is in ruins, which counts as ashes."

"Is it a hawk, or…?" Boone asked.

"Some say so, others say it's a huge red or golden bird. So this is going to be the symbol of New Vegas." Recovery, he hoped, not going down in flames. 

"Well, it's you," Boone decided. "Good to have something for people to rally around, too. Caesar has that brahmin, with the one head — everyone knows that by sight."

"It's a good sign, I think," Cass said.

Then the power came on, and the bird blazed to life in fiery neon red. 

"How's it look, Boss?" Raul called.

"Looks great, Raul!" Gunnar gave him a thumbs-up and a big grin. 

"Is this what you wanted him to do for Christmas?" Boone asked.

"No… but it’s Christmas Eve. You'll find out soon enough."

~ ~ ~

Christmas Eve dinner for the group was a little more festive than usual, with limited alcohol served (Cass drank Gunnar's share) and, courtesy of the Ultra-Luxe, ice cream for dessert.

"I want to thank you all for everything," Gunnar said at the end. "It's been… a really strange three months for me. All of you have made it a much better time for me than if I'd been alone. And… I really appreciate all of you."

He looked around at their faces. "Next year is going to be a challenge, and you know what my plans are already, so… tonight, Raul put something together for me, and I hope you'll all enjoy it. You too, Raul."

"It wouldn't happen to involve giving me access to the cocktail lounge, would it?" Cass teased.

Gunnar shook his head, smiling. "But there'll be popcorn and sodas. If you have other plans, my feelings aren't hurt; but if you'd like to find out, please follow me to the presidential suite."


	36. Among My Souvenirs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas and mistletoe and a movie.

The smell of fresh popcorn greeted them as the elevator doors opened.

"What's that?" Cass asked, sniffing.

"Popcorn. Let me guess, you don't have that either, these days?"

"Never smelled popcorn like that," she admitted. 

"I can't make a claim that it will taste exactly like it would back in my time," Gunnar said. "But I've tried it, and it's good." A little oil and a little salt and that was enough. _I sound like an old man forcing his old habits on younger people._

"Good enough for me," Raul said. "Who made it?"

"Marilyn and Jane. Thanks, ladies," Gunnar said, accepting a large metal bowl of popcorn from one of the robots.

"Thank _you_ , sugar," Jane purred. "It's good to have a reason to entertain again."

"Are we going to watch a play?" Arcade said, taking his own bowl.

"Not exactly. A lot of Mr. House's stuff was untouched by looting, weather and other things that destroyed so much after the war and in the intervening years." Gunnar gestured his companions to the sofas and chairs before one of the larger TVs in the casino. "And Raul was able to get this TV working."

"But there's nothing to run on it," Boone said.

Gunnar held up a hand. "There is! Mr. House kept collections of things here in the presidential suite. Not as many as I expected, but I think he only kept them here for decor. Snow globes, an encyclopedia, some collected great works, stuff like that. He also had some holotapes."

"And you have a working player?" Arcade said. "Raul Tejada, there may be work for you outside this casino."

Raul grinned, a gruesome sight. "Maybe. Depends how many fixable TVs there are."

"So this is a holotape with pictures?" Boone asked.

"Yeah. Anyone want a drink? Sorry, Cass, just sodas and water."

"How about soda with some scotch mixed in? Hey, can't blame me for trying."

Raul got everything working, the lights went down low, and the movie started. Gunnar sat a little off to one side, partly to be a good host and let the guests have the best view, but also to see what they thought. Raul remembered television, may even have seen the movie at some point. But for the others, this was all new. Lost technology come back to life.

He could've picked a color movie, probably, but Mr. House had had a limited number of tapes in the first place. Just like how so many of the bookshelves were "tastefully empty" rather than loaded up with books that might've been saved, Mr. House apparently had some of these movies because they were gifts or just to look pretty in nice rows.

Then Gunnar had had to eliminate any of the movies that required too much explanation or a crash course in Pre-War culture to make sense. Sure, Arcade might've gotten some of the references, but some of the humor or tech might have just gone over their heads just yet. So he'd settled for a black-and-white adventure story, some humor, some battles, even a little romance. 

Maybe there were other holotapes out there, in good enough condition, to watch. Of course, everything eventually turned to dust, so could they be saved somehow? He didn't know. 

But the movie! They were familiar with radio, but now they had the pictures too: the dashing hero, the sinister cult; romance, humor, camaraderie; the great battle scenes across mountains that were probably filmed in California, now that Gunnar thought about it, instead of on location halfway around the world. He himself hadn't seen the movie in years, and yes there were some flaws, but overall he enjoyed it, and so did they.

They were more caught up in it than he was, unfamiliar with the story, and with moving pictures. Even Arcade, who tried to look blase about it, became nervous as it looked like the ambush would succeed and the army slaughtered. Boone muttered now and then under his breath, and Cass ate popcorn, eyes glued to the screen, as Marilyn and Jane refilled the bowls.

"So that's a movie," Arcade said, when it was over and the lights were on. "It was memorable. I can see why there's a TV in every house now." 

"Was it only at Christmas?" Cass asked. They all crowded into the elevator to return to the suites level.

"No, it was all the time. Movies and shows — shows were short movies, like… every week there would be a new story about those characters. That's a show." Trying to explain things that he'd taken for granted in his own time put Gunnar back into teacher mode. "And some were black and white, like that one, and others were in color."

"Do you have any of those?"

"There are some, in the library. But some of them might be hard to understand after so much time." He hoped there were some comedies in there. Slapstick and silent films might work out pretty well, actually.

The door opened and they exited. "What's that?" Boone asked, pointing at a wreath of branches and small red berries hanging from the ceiling fixture.

"It's secapalo," Raul said.

"I know that. What's it doing hanging from the ceiling?"

Raul and Gunnar looked at each other. They knew what it had been in years past. "It's sort of traditional," Gunnar said.

"It's poisonous," Arcade said flatly. "People try to get high off it and die."

"Yep, they did that too, back then," Raul agreed. 

"You can eat the fruit though," Cass said. "It's okay. It'll keep you alive, and not mess with your head. Trust me, I know."

Phoradendron californicum, the desert mistletoe. It hadn't been hard to find someone willing to collect it. Gunnar decided against mentioning the other traditional use of mistletoe, at least with this crowd here. It might not come across well after discussions of poison.

"Before the war," Raul said, "people would hang up mistletoe so you could kiss under it. I don't know why. Some anglo tradition."

"I don't know either," Gunnar admitted. "But the idea is, if you stood under the mistletoe, anyone could kiss you. And for every kiss, a berry is plucked, so when the berries are gone, no more kisses."

"That's a lot of berries up there," Cass mused.

"Because I made a wreath, instead of just hanging a little twig of it," Gunnar said. Was it just him, or had most of the room edged away to be out from under the mistletoe? "Anyway, it looks nice."


	37. Under the Mistletoe

"Were you expecting a bunch of kisses from us?" Boone asked later.

"Not really. I just thought it'd be nice to have something up." Gunnar kept writing in his diary.

"Because… look, are you trying to make your old… partnerships, family, whatever, over again?"

Gunnar paused and looked up. "Craig. I'm with you. I admit it'd be nice to have Arcade with us, but you come first. I don't even know how he feels about it."

Boone nodded, satisfied. Gunnar returned to his diary.

~ ~ ~

Diary:  
 _  
First Christmas away from _

_I want to write "you" but if everything happened as I think it did, you're long gone and will never read this. So I guess it's first Christmas away from my old life. At least I have a safe place to sleep and someone who loves me, and enough to eat._

_I'll set out the little gifts like I remember. It's okay if that's all we do. Times have changed. Haha. I know better than to expect things like they used to be._

_I wish Arcade could be part of us, but… Craig's right. If it happens, it happens, but I can't ask. It wouldn't be fair to him, when he obviously doesn't want that. And who knows, Arcade might even be offended by it._

_I suppose… I know I'm weird for feeling like this, that I can love people like this, whoever they are, that most people can't. And the public would probably think I'm extra weird and having orgy parties in the Presidential Suite. Then again this is Vegas so maybe they'd be more impressed by that._

_Victor got tired of holding onto the messages — a robot, getting tired, heh — so I found an old mail pouch to hang on the wall outside the main door. He can still see the messages getting dropped off and guard them, but not have to deal with them himself. That'll be easier for everyone._

_Not one Bible in this town as far as I can tell. Certainly there wasn't one here and Benny didn't have one in his room in the Tops. I wonder if anyone still prints those? Are they all gone now? Are there any printing presses still functional in this country? Someone's making those posters for the NCR, there's got to be a way.  
_   
~ ~ ~

In the dead of night, Gunnar went to the casino to meet with Raul. 

"Here it is, Boss." Raul gestured at what he'd brought up from storage. "All nice and shined up. Where d'you want it?"

"Raul, that looks great! That really does! Thanks for finding one. I mean it." Gunnar gave Raul a quick hug that startled the ghoul. "I think up in the presidential suite, don't you? In the rec room? Can we get this in the elevator?"

~ ~ ~

"There we go." They spoke quietly in the rec room, hoping not to wake anyone. The aluminum Christmas tree glittered faintly under the dim lights. "Too bad the color wheel doesn't work."

"Can't have everything, Boss."

"I know. Thanks again, Raul. This is great." Gunnar gently clapped Raul on the back. 

"Most people don't do stuff like this any more. You know that, right?" Raul looked sideways at Gunnar.

"I know. But it's nice to do."

They said their goodnights and Gunnar snuck back to penthouse, but not yet to sleep. Instead he picked out the little gifts. They weren't much, not at all. Not because he didn't have money; he did. But he had to spend it wisely, and he didn't want everyone else to feel embarrassed about getting anything when they didn't do the same, as he was fairly sure they hadn't.

They were little cloth bags of candy and nuts — nothing pre-war, all locally made or harvested, so at least they weren't too irradiated, he hoped. Gunnar hung them on the tree, one for each of his friends and — Gunnar wanted to call them _partners_ but that wasn't true any more, not in this new life. Still. One for everyone, including himself, and no names on them, not even his. Let them wonder who had set it up, for a whole minute, perhaps. He smiled.

He left the rec room and bumped into someone in the hallway. "Wha — "

"Gunnar?" It was Arcade. The lights were off but there was still a little dim flickering from the security terminal. "What're you doing up?"

"I, ah, couldn't sleep."

"So you decided to run into me under the the wreath?"

There was an awkward pause.

"Look — "

"Sorry — "

Another awkward pause.

"So what're you doing here?" Gunnar asked, to break the silence.

"I was going to the kitchen for something to drink."

"Okay." Made total sense. 

"Look, I should get going — " they both said at once, and then Gunnar laughed, quietly, and after a moment Arcade said, "I don't think this is going to work out."

"What?" Gunnar stopped laughing.

"Jealousy. Getting too close. Everyone trying to get along. You got lucky once and found someone, more than one someone, and that's rare. You know how hard it is for anyone to find even one person they can get along with like that?"

"…Yes." It was true. 

"But some people can't deal with that kind of openness," Arcade said. "Even if they don't realize how lucky _they_ are."

Gunnar didn't want to agree to that. "You're not leaving, are you? I need you to get my government set up after the war."

Now it was Arcade's turn to laugh. "And become your first minister, is that it? How could I turn down such an offer? I don't even have to sleep my way to the top."

"Don't."

"Sorry. I'd better go."

"Me too."

They stood there another moment, and Gunnar impulsively hugged the other man, because it felt right. After a moment Arcade patted Gunnar's back and said, "I'm not leaving."

"Thanks."

They separated, and Gunnar decided he'd stop here at the restroom before going back to the penthouse. Well, wasn't that a wretched way to finish up Christmas Eve. Okay, maybe he _did_ want Arcade as part of the relationship, but — dammit — he didn't see any good way around this without someone getting hurt, and he didn't want to do that — 

Gunnar was familiar enough with the interiors that he didn't bother turning lights on. On his way out of the bathroom he ran straight into something, smacking it so hard he saw stars. His nose hurt like hell and the room wasn't all that steady either. What the hell? Gunnar reached out and felt. The door. The main door to the restroom was usually open since there were curtained stalls in here, and in the dark he'd misjudged and walked right into it. 

Okay, _that_ made it a worse way to finish up Christmas Eve. He felt his nose; probably not broken, but sore as — ow! Okay, don't do that again. Definitely time to call it a night before a third bad thing happened.

Gunnar returned to the penthouse without further incident, got into bed next to Boone and went to sleep.


	38. Jolly Days

"Are you going to get up?"

"Mmf." Gunnar didn't want to. He burrowed down into the covers instead.

"C'mon, Gunn. Everyone's waiting."

"Okay, okay," Gunnar said from under the covers. "I'll be right down." He sensed the blackout curtains being drawn back from the windows, allowing the weak December sunlight to enter the room. It was still plenty bright after being in the dark. "Seriously."

He stayed under the covers a few more seconds, and then threw them back. He was still tired. Being up all night had that effect. He ran his hand through his hair and decided as long as he was in pajamas, that was good enough for Christmas morning. Right now the perfect Christmas gift would be some actual real coffee. Even instant coffee. 

"What the hell happened to you?"

Gunnar blinked up at Boone standing over him. "What?" Oh, his nose. Probably it was swollen from last night. He gingerly touched it — ow, yes, still hurts, thanks.

"Who hit you?"

That woke Gunnar up more. "What do you mean?"

Boone extended a hand and helped him out of bed, then marched him to the bathroom where Gunnar could see himself. He now sported a fine black eye as well as a swollen nose with flecks of dried blood. He stared at his reflection.

"Who hit you?" Boone growled. "I'll kill them."

"I walked into a door," Gunnar said.

Boone's eyes narrowed.

Gunnar turned toward him. "I really did."

"In the middle of the night."

"Yes."

"Because you didn't have that when you came to bed."

"Also yes. I was up and I went to the bathroom and I walked into the door." Gunnar could tell Boone didn't believe him.

"You went out, didn't you? Off to do some crazy shit you didn't want us to know about?"

"Oh dear God, no." Gunnar rubbed at his temples. "No, I didn't leave the 38 last night. If we had a Bible I'd swear on it."

Boone looked at the door frame and then at Gunnar. "It's your left eye. You couldn't hit the door that way, it'd be on your right."

And the left eye was the one most likely to be hit by a right-handed attacker. "It was the downstairs bathroom. On the suites floor."

"Why were you down there in the middle of the night?"

"I was setting out presents. There, are you happy? They were supposed to be a surprise." Gunnar turned on the sink, wet his fingertips and rubbed the flecks of blood away. 

Boone still didn't look happy, but at least he wasn't murderous any more. "Everyone's going to see that," he said. "Don't you have a pair of dark glasses to cover it up?"

"I'd need a set of Groucho glasses to cover my nose." Which definitely looked like it had met trouble. "And who wears dark glasses inside? This place is dark enough already, I don't need to stumble around in the dark. That's how this happened in the first place." Gunnar decided he'd get dressed anyway now that he was up. What a Christmas morning.

~ ~ ~

"Hey, here he is!" Cass crowed, as Gunnar entered the rec room, followed by Boone. "Here's the — what the fuck happened to you?"

The festive mood immediately changed as Cass, Arcade, and Raul all saw Gunnar's black eye.

"I walked into a door," Gunnar said.

His hopes that he might be believed this time were dashed. Cass looked sad and disappointed. Arcade looked angry. Gunnar raised his hands. "Honest — "

"It wasn't me," Boone said. Somehow that didn't help.

Arcade got to his feet. "What kind of choices are you making?" he hissed at Gunnar.

"Very poor ones about walking around in the dark, it seems. Arcade, really, Craig didn't — "

"You think I did this?" Boone growled. 

"Jesus Christ — " Gunnar could feel a headache building to match the ache in his face.

"This is because of last night, isn't it?" Arcade said.

"What about last night?" Boone stepped forward.

"Hey, hey, amigos, he says he walked into a door, he walked into a door," Raul said. "Everything's okay. Right?"

Cass just sat back and took a big swig from a bottle of beer.

"Will you all just believe me? I was up during the night getting things ready for today, and I walked into a door because I didn't want to turn the lights on and wake anyone." Some Christmas surprise. "Nobody hit me. Everything is fine."

They seemed to accept that, so Gunnar continued, "Besides, I can't believe you think I'd _let_ anyone pop me one. Especially someone I love. And that includes both of you," he said, pointing at Cass and Raul, who looked at each other and back to Gunnar. "Look, you're all my family now, right? Some of them platonic, some of them more, but honestly, people, _stop fighting_. You're so ready to fight each other. How the hell can I rule the Mojave if even the people I love and trust can't get along?"

Everyone was quiet. Gunnar sat down on the sofa and put his face in his hands. 

Cass cleared her throat. "Next time, just say 'you should see the other guy'," she said. "That way you sound like you were in a fight, and you won."

"Thanks for the candy, Boss," Raul said next. "Didn't expect that. Reminded me of a long time ago."

"You're welcome," Gunnar mumbled through his hands.

"Hey, I've got an idea," Cass said. She set down the beer bottle. "Gunnar, Boone, you two go out into the hall, wait thirty seconds, then come back in. Okay?"

"Sure." At this point Gunnar seriously considered leaving and going to the reactor room to wallow in disappointment, but they'd likely come after him.

In the hall, Gunnar stood with hands in pockets, not looking at anything in particular. He could feel a sort of heaviness looming over him, and he should know that, he suspected, but — 

"Sorry," Boone said.

Gunnar looked at him. "What?"

"Sorry. I don't want you hurt."

"Use some more words, Craig." It won't poison you.

Boone took a deep breath, exhaled. "Thought someone had hurt you, and I don't want that."

"Okay." Fair enough. "But trust me too, huh? I thought you trusted me by now."

"I do, but —"

"Okay," they heard Cass from the other side of the door. "Let's try this again."

"Later," Boone said, before Gunnar could. "In the Lounge."

Gunnar gave him a dirty look, but opened the door to the rec room and walked in.

"There he is! The man of the hour!" Cass said cheerfully. Her face was a little red. "Happy Christmas, Boss!"

This time it was more like what he'd hoped for: everyone cheerful, smiling, and, yes, happy about what he'd done. And that in turn made Gunnar feel better. Nobody mentioned his eye, and people seemed happy with the gifts.

Besides the little bags of candy and nuts, he'd gotten something for everyone, including himself. A new hat for Raul, two books for Arcade, fairly unused tinted shades for Boone, and a new tooled leather belt for Cass to use with her holsters. For himself, an actual unopened box of pencils. 

Wrapping paper didn't exist any more, and paper of any kind was in short supply, so he'd wrapped each item in cloth and penciled the names on that. 

"Too bad you don't have one of your cameras," Cass said, throwing an arm around Gunnar's shoulders. She took another sip from the beer bottle, but her breath didn't smell like beer. Gunnar let it go. 

"I wish I could take a picture," he agreed. Something of all of them, his new family, whatever you'd call it. 

Maybe he could draw it, later. He hadn't done much of that, just some doodles, and he was probably out of practice now, but it would be worth the effort.

"And where'd you get this?" Arcade stuck his thumb at the aluminum tree.

"Took a little work to find that," Raul said. "Down in the basement. Used to have a color wheel you could run, it would change it all different colors."

"You had some strange customs back then."

Gunnar shrugged. It didn't matter; what mattered was everyone here. "Where's Boone?"

"Here." Boone had a camera, an actual working camera, and he held it up. Gunnar and Raul both grinned for the camera — Boone may have flinched — and then the blinding light of the flash went off. Gunnar saw stars again and blinked several times.

"Where's that from?" he asked when his vision cleared.

"That artist, remember? He can develop the film."

"Hey, you won't be in the picture," Gunnar said.

"And?"

"Let me see the camera, maybe there's a timer."

Boone held it away. "No."

"C'mon, Craig. You've got to be in this too. You don't have to smile."

In the end Boone stood to Gunnar's left and Arcade to his right, Cass and Raul in front, with almost everyone smiling this time.

Someone turned on the radio, and Christmas music filled the rec room.


	39. Hello, My Lover, Goodbye

"So when're you going to hire some more women?" Cass asked Gunnar, as some breakfast arrived courtesy of Yes Man, and the others went to look over the cart. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you're a nice bunch of guys, more or less, but I wouldn't mind someone else to talk to. You know, lady stuff."

"I didn't exactly plan it like this," Gunnar said. "But I'll keep it in mind." And she had a point. Of course he couldn't hire just anyone, and there was the security thing to keep in mind, but the ratio of men to women was pretty lopsided in here. Just until the war's over, he thought. Then he wouldn't need to worry about security so much. And there were bound to be competent women out there whom he could recruit into his new government; he just had to find them. 

"So what happens now?" Arcade asked, coming over with a piece of cornbread with a half a chili pepper on top for garnish. "Are there more Christmas traditions we should know about?"

"I didn't think you cared. But let me get something to eat, and then we'll talk about your new assignments."

Cass groaned. "What, we have to work today?"

"Not today. Tomorrow. Unless you want to go out today because you're bored."

"I may have to, since your elevator won't let me into the cocktail lounge."

"There's a lot of vintage booze up there — " Gunnar began.

"I'm aware of that!"

" — and I might need it for barter or gifts."

"You could've gifted some to me," Cass said, batting her eyes at him. Gunnar laughed, and so did she. "Okay, I get it, if you let me up there I probably wouldn't come out again."

"Not vertically, anyway," Raul said.

~ ~ ~

"How many more pictures can you take?" Gunnar asked Boone.

Boone checked the camera. "Ten, I think."

"Wow. Okay. I'll pay him for the film, but let's get some more pictures."

"Of what?"

"Of us, of course."

"Can the rest of us have them?" Cass asked.

"Look, I don't know if we should use up the whole thing," Boone said. "I borrowed it for this, for today, but you said there's only so much film left in the world, right?"

Gunnar half shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. And we can get copies made of the ones you took."

"And put one up on the wall. For Christmas, Boss got a black eye," Raul said.

Gunnar smiled at that. So did Arcade; maybe he thought this story would surpass the one where he grenaded the mole rat.

~ ~ ~

"You blocked Cass from the cocktail lounge?"

"Yeah, I did." Gunnar pressed the button for that very floor. "Otherwise she'd probably only come out pickled in a pine box."

Boone wished the war would start right now, just to avoid this talk. 

The wind wasn't so bad on this level. On the penthouse level, the sound of the wind outside could get loud, loud enough to make Boone nervous about being up this high in a building. In the cocktail lounge, even without the radio, the wind was fainter, easier to ignore.

Gunnar walked to the window and looked out at the view. "I wish I could remember more about the original Caesar's timeline," he said. "If there's some significant date for when this one might attack. All I can really remember is the Ides, and that doesn't help much."

"What's the ee-days?"

"When he was murdered. Fifteenth of March."

Boone looked around for something, anything. He didn't know what he was even looking for, just something to distract him from what was to come. "You think he'll follow the past?"

"I don't know. He probably won't. Sometimes people pick days for plans because of significance, but I think most of the time it's based on more practical factors. Are they ready. How's the weather. Stuff like that." Gunnar turned away from the window. "Craig."

"Yeah." Get it over with and deal with the fallout.

"I get why you thought I'd been punched. I'd've thought the same thing if you woke up with a black eye." Gunnar's mouth quirked into a small smile. "I always thought 'I walked into a door' was just made up. Never realized you could actually get a black eye from it."

Boone nodded.

"But you really thought I went out in the middle of the night and got in a fight?"

Boone wanted to shrug and didn't. "I got worried. It seemed like something you'd do."

"Craig, I love you, but — I think — "

" — we'd be better off not together for a while?" Boone finished. There. It was said.

To his surprise, Gunn looked relieved. "Yeah. Maybe some time apart would be good for us both. Figure things out."

"Fine by me." Boone felt better about it too, like a weight had been lifted from him. "I mean, I think it's a good idea. Thought you'd be more angry about it, though."

"Well… I won't deny I'm…" Gunnar took a deep breath, walking towards Boone. "A little sad about it. But yeah, let's try a break from each other. I still love you, you big hothead." He smiled.

"You got me through the worst time in my life," Boone said, and he realized this wasn't a break. This was ending it. Calling it a break was just a way to save face for one or both of them. He could see in Gunn's eyes that Gunn knew it, too. And the Vault dweller still cared. "I don't know how you're able to do that. Love pretty much anyone, I mean. And everyone. Even Raul."

Gunnar laughed. "Raul's like a cousin, okay? I don't think I could get physically attracted to a ghoul, of either sex. And I know I'm not like most people about," he gestured vaguely, "relationships."

"You got that right." Boone pulled Gunn close, held him tightly, then planted a kiss at his temple, not the one with the scar, before letting him go.

"You're sticking around, right?" Gunnar asked. "Because I still need you to help me get through all this."

"Sure I will. You can't do it all alone, and you still can't hit a barn without a grenade launcher." Boone smiled.

"That's true." Gunnar's expression changed. "Where do you want to sleep tonight?"

Damn. Of course they'd shared a bed for a while now, and there weren't enough extra beds unless Boone shared with someone else, which might not go over well right now. "I can take the couch in the penthouse. Unless you want me to tell Arcade."

"No, that's… that's too soon. Thanks, Craig."

"For what?"

"Not blowing up."

Now Boone shrugged. "Still friends, right?"

"Sure." Gunnar made thumbs-up with both hands. "Still friends." And he seemed to mean it, too.

They nodded at each other, in that awkward, needing-to-say-goodbye-somehow stage, and then Boone said, "See you later," and left.

"Later," Gunnar agreed. When the door closed behind Boone, Gunnar walked back to the window. He ignored the alcohol around him; by now he'd gone so long without drinking it that he didn't think of the bottles like that. Besides, booze wouldn't help anything. Too many demonstrations of that in this world.

He stared out over the city without really looking at it.


	40. I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Cry (Over You)

"Gunnar."

Gunnar looked up from the blank page of his diary. Words hadn't wanted to come, or rather, too many words, and it was maybe better not to write any of them. "Arcade. What's up?"

Arcade looked around the cocktail lounge before approaching Gunnar. "I thought I'd check on your nose. I should've done so earlier."

"Sure." Gunnar closed the book and set it aside. He closed his eyes while Arcade examined his face.

"Well, you're breathing fine. Sorry about that," Arcade added, as Gunnar winced. "I think it's just very swollen. If we had any ice I'd say ice it down."

"Ultra-Luxe has ice."

"Maybe we can send someone over there. I see what you mean now about a message system. I suppose you want ice cream from them too?"

"Nuh." Gunnar gently touched his nose after Arcade was done. "I doubt they have any available right now. I wish we had painkillers."

"You and all the Followers," Arcade sighed, sticking his hands into his coat pockets. "How are you otherwise?"

"Besides the black eye? I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"You know, I always thought I had a trustworthy face," Gunnar said. "But people don't seem to believe me when I say I'm okay, or that nothing's wrong. Why is that?"

Arcade narrowed his eyes. "Are you being sarcastic?"

"No."

"Now that's got to be sarcasm." Arcade slid into the booth opposite Gunnar. "But at least I know you won't turn to alcohol or drugs — we do have some Medex if you want it for your nose, now that I think about it."

"I'll take my chances without it." Gunnar crossed his arms. "Do you need something to do?"

"I think we all do. We've been waiting to hear from you, really. Find out what you want us to do. What you're going to do. Who stays and who goes. Economic policy. Things like that."

"You mean, is Boone leaving."

"Is he?" Arcade sat back.

"No. And everything's fine."

"Is it now."

Gunnar leaned forward. "Yes."

"Glad to hear it, then." Arcade sat with folded hands on the table, waiting expectantly.

"I'll come down and, and tell everyone what we'll be doing," Gunnar said. "And could you see about getting some ice from the Ultra-Luxe, please."

"Of course." Arcade didn't move.

"We broke up. Are, are you happy now?"

Arcade had the decency to look surprised. "Really."

"Yes." Gunnar knew he was far too old for sulking, but he was going to do it anyway.

"Not just an argument, then." 

"No argument. Just calling it quits. It wasn't working out. Okay?" Gunnar snapped. "Are, are we done poking into other people's private problems now?"

"It's not private if it affects the ruler of New Vegas." 

That struck home. "Yeah, I guess you're right," Gunnar said. He started to rub his nose and stopped at the pain. "We decided to call it quits, like I said. No hard feelings."

"You're sure of that." When Gunnar nodded, Arcade shrugged. "I suppose that's that, then. I won't bother you again with it, since your mind's made up." Then, in a softer voice, he continued, "It does hurt, doesn't it, though."

Gunnar looked away. "I may not remember the previous ones, but I think I wouldn't be wrong in saying this is one of my worst Christmases ever," he said. 

"I… can't argue with that." Arcade stood up from the booth. "I'll let everyone know you'll be down shortly."

"Thanks. I'll be there."

Gunnar waited for Arcade to leave, then took the elevator up to the penthouse. If he was going to be miserable, he'd at least do so in the privacy of his own room this time.

~ ~ ~ 

"Did you walk into another door?" Cass asked.

"I might as well have." Gunnar held a bag of the precious ice to his face. Maybe it would do something for puffy reddened eyes too. "Let's get on with things, shall we?"

"We don't even get a full day off for Christmas?" Raul wheezed, joking. 

"Actually I expect you'd like the heads up. The Fiends need to be taken down, ideally driven out of that Vault they're in. I have to meet with a bunch of people tomorrow. And I need to find someone who can be a secretary or assistant, to keep track of things for me and handle the messages."

"So you get the easy job?" Cass said.

"Do _you_ want to deal with politicians?" Boone asked.

"Point taken. You get the shitty job, Boss."

Gunnar was pretty sure they knew what had happened, whether Arcade or Boone had said anything. At least everyone was making a good attempt at acting like nothing was out of the ordinary. He adjusted the ice pack against his nose and continued. "You all know what the Fiends are up to and where they're coming from. I could come along for part of it, until the Vault."

"Why only part?" Raul asked. "Doesn't seem like you're scared of much."

Damn. Raul didn't know about the memory episodes. "Because being in a Vault might make me remember things, like flashbacks, and when I do, I sort of black out. I'd be a straight-up hazard, either because I'd fall down stairs or get shot."

"I see." Raul rubbed his chin. "I could go in your place."

"Really?"

"Sure. I don't have a problem with it, and I always wanted to see the inside of a Vault. Even one Fiends have smeared themselves over."

"If you're sure…" Boone began.

"Sure I'm sure. You three can stay in front and shoot stuff. I'll reload and make sure you don't break things beyond repair."

Even Gunnar smiled a little at that one. "Okay, it's settled."

"Not quite," Arcade said. "Much as I'd love to get involved in close-quarters shootouts with a bunch of drug-crazed psychopaths, I think I could better help you out with some of the above-ground work. And Vaults aren't that big," he reminded the group. "Not very spacious. I don't need to worry about shooting someone in the back."

"Or using a grenade?"

Arcade gave Boone a dirty look.

"You're willing to deal with people on my behalf?" Gunnar asked.

"You said you need a secretary. No, I'm not volunteering. But I could ask at the Follower camp and see who they might have. You need someone literate, trustworthy, resourceful and diligent. You'll find those in NCR and Followers, and honestly? I don't know that you want an NCR mole here right now."

Gunnar switched hands to hold the ice pack in place. "By the same token, a Follower could funnel information out too."

"True, but you're a Follower now yourself. And we don't have an active political agenda in place to take over Vegas. You do, I'll admit, but we don't."

Gunnar considered it. "Okay. If the gun team is okay with it?"

"I think we'll be fine," Cass said. "Besides, Arcade, you're kinda visible in that coat and all. The Fiends won't know me and Raul are with the big G. And if Boone would change his hat, they wouldn't recognize him either. We can sneak in pretty easily." She shrugged. "Then start Operation Guns-A-Blazin'."

"I'm not getting rid of my beret."

"Anything else about what needs to get done?" Gunnar said. "No? Just let me know when you head out, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone commenting, leaving kudos, reading, sharing the links... you are all so appreciated. Please feel free to comment at any time on any chapter - I love them - they clear my skin, water my crops, you know the drill. :)


	41. Twilight Time

"I'm going to be out most of tomorrow," Gunnar told Arcade later that night. "I've got too many visits I've put off. I hate to go looking like this, but — "

"Just say what Cass said. 'You should see the other guy.' Besides, everyone knows you've been in fights and have hit squads after you."

"True. Then there's the other tribes I still need to visit — the Brotherhood, the Boomers, and the Khans."

"And the Enclave," Arcade said quietly.

"Oh, jeez, I knew I forgot one." Gunnar sat on the old sofa, head in hands. "This is why I need that secretary. I'm sorry, Arcade." He looked up. "It's been a rough day."

"And you didn't get a lot of sleep last night, as I remember." Arcade waited a moment before continuing. "Perhaps that's what you need right now. A good night's sleep."

"Yeah. Probably."

"Is Boone — ?"

"We already talked about it. He'll sleep somewhere else." Gunnar looked up, trying to smile. "I mean, it's my house. I get the good bed."

"It's a very good bed," Arcade agreed. "Pretty large, too. Plenty of room to stretch out. Too much room for one person, really."

Gunnar looked up, amused despite himself. "If you're asking can you be in it…"

"I am."

Gunnar grew serious and looked down again. "Isn't it too soon?"

"For what? After a breakup?"

"Well… Yeah."

"Sounds like a pre-war problem to me." 

"I guess so. But I just want to sleep tonight."

"Sure. I'll meet you there?"

Arcade expected only sleeping anyway. He'd seen how it had taken Gunnar and Boone a long time to get around to anything close to sex, so it would be the same here. Probably. Unless Boone was the problem then, but who knew? Gunnar loved so easily, and yet…

No reason not to be prepared anyway, especially with a working bathroom and soap. Gunnar had a thing about cleanliness, too. More pre-war strange behavior, but this, Arcade could adapt to.

The blackout curtains were closing when Arcade came into the penthouse bedroom. He hadn't brought anything up — he wasn't sure if he'd been invited to move in yet — except his change of clothes for tomorrow.

Gunnar was already in bed, sitting up, reading. 

"Anything good?" Arcade asked, hanging his coat over a chair.

Gunnar shrugged and closed the book. "Couldn't think what to write, so I thought I'd try one of the books here. Maybe I can get a library built next year. Seems enough people are literate."

Arcade nodded and sat on the bed to take off his shoes. "That's one good thing about the NCR. They do have schools, back in California.”

"I saw Craig downstairs. He said he'd sleep down there." Gunnar put the book on the end table. He was already in those special sleeping clothes, the pajamas. Arcade was used to sleeping in whatever he'd worn that day, or less if it was summer and therefore hot as blazes. He decided to stick with what he had on. Only sleeping, after all. 

Arcade set his glasses on his own end table and switched off his light. "Is this how all you pre-war people lived?" he asked.

"No. And you know that." Gunnar shut off his light and the room plunged into blackness. It was darker than Arcade had expected. After a moment he could see the dim lines at the edges of the curtains.

"Just making conversation. And books don't always tell the truth about the past."

"Mm." Gunnar shifted; rolled on his side, it sounded like. 

"For instance, I don't think I've ever read of someone in a multi-partner relationship that didn't end in tragedy," Arcade continued, "but you and yours seem to have made it work."

"They're all dead now." Yes, on his side, facing away from Arcade.

"Okay, someone needs sleep before he gets much more depressed. I promise you that the world will seem better in the morning." Arcade reached out and found Gunnar's shoulder. Pat, pat. 

No response, which was unusual given what Arcade had seen of Gunnar's want, or need, for physical contact during sleep. _As your doctor, I advise spooning up against me._ That was amusing and probably would work, actually. So Arcade moved accordingly and wrapped himself around Gunnar. Whether it would help the redhead was one thing, but it certainly felt good for Arcade.

 _Happy Christmas to me,_ he thought. And maybe in the morning Gunnar would see it that way too.


	42. Am I In Love?

Morning found Gunnar's head on Arcade's shoulder. Gunnar was still deep asleep, while Arcade watched the blackout curtains retract automatically. Nice touch, that. The windows didn't face east or west, so no blinding sunlight at certain times of the day, but it was definitely daylight and time to get up.

Instead, Arcade enjoyed the moment of comfort and peace and physical closeness for as long as it was given to him. He could get very used to this. Assistant to the mayor or king or whatever title Gunnar chose for himself. The chance to put into practice his own policies. The opportunity to make a real difference in the area, and got the better. 

And to risk everything by getting too close to that same person in power. 

Arcade could lie to himself, sure, and say he was only offering comfort to a distressed teammate, but he honestly wouldn't do this for any of the others. (Maybe Boone. Maybe.) No, he wanted this. Wanted it to become more. Wanted —

He heard something in the next room. Might be one of the robots, or one of the team. Funny how they'd become a team now. Arcade eased away from Gunnar and went to see who was there. 

It was Boone, retrieving something from a dresser. He looked up at Arcade. "You moved in already?"

"He asked me to," Arcade said, on the defensive.

"Good." Boone closed the dresser. "He'll be happier with you. He doesn't like to sleep alone and he's a cuddler."

"So I noticed." So the breakup was not only amicable, but welcomed, at least on Boone's part. Interesting.

"I'll clear out my stuff after we get back," Boone went on. "I'll take your bed downstairs, too, if you've moved up here."

"Of course." Arcade felt he was one step behind in this conversation. "Anything else I should know?"

Boone paused, thinking, then shook his head. "Nope." 

"You don't seem broken up about the breaking up," Arcade said.

"We agreed it was best for us both to move on." Boone paused and looked directly at Arcade. "I needed him then. But he always wanted you anyway. So it all works out."

"Given your previous behavior, I thought you'd be more jealous." This Boone was disconcerting.

"We're not together any more." Boone took off his shades and cleaned then with the tail of his shirt. "I'm glad he's moving on. So should you." He smiled without showing his teeth.

"Okay then. Good luck and don't get killed."

"I don't intend to. I've still got Legion to kill." Boone waved and left.

Arcade frowned slightly and returned to the bedroom. Gunnar was out of bed and pulling on a T-shirt that might have been naturally gray or might be gray due to age, use, and Gunnar’s ill-fated attempts to do laundry. 

"Good morning," Arcade said. "Sleep well?"

"I slept okay. Thanks." Gunnar picked out a long-sleeved button-down pre-war shirt. "Where do people get clothing from?"

"What do you mean?"

"There's a lot of pre-war clothing still in use. And some stuff that looks like brahmin hides stitched together."

"In the Mojave, sure. California's got actual clothing. Not factories, not like before, but enough industry to make all those uniforms for the troops. Then the Legion has its own industry, because someone has to make all _their_ equipment — uniforms, tents, spears, and so on — anything they haven’t scavenged or repurposed."

"And all Vegas can make is debtors," Gunnar muttered. He continued in a louder voice, "Caesar doesn't have a Rome, does he? And that's why he needs this city. It's big, it's famous and it's got a water source. With enough slave labor he could clear the rubble and make it into something." 

"That's true." Arcade wondered if Gunnar did this all the time with Boone, and whether the sniper had appreciated it. "The NCR of course would like to keep it as a money-making machine."

"Sure, the kind that taxes people bad at math. Gambling is for suckers. Even I know that." Gunnar chose a pair of rather worn but still serviceable jeans. "These are clean, and I've got to make a good impression."

"You don't want to get fancy for the Ultra-Luxe?" Arcade said lightly.

Gunnar shook his head. "This is business, not social. And you've got work to do today too."

"Such a romantic you are in the morning."

"Sorry. I think I'm still — well, yesterday, you know."

"You're a hard one to figure out, Gunnar Volk. You know that?"

Gunnar smiled for the first time that morning. "I suppose I'm contradictory and confusing sometimes, yes."

"Out of your time, come to bring peace and order to the wasteland." Arcade leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "And educated and handsome to boot."

"Arcade, I already invited you in, you can lay off the flattery." But it appeared Gunnar liked it anyway.


	43. My Heart Tells Me (Should I Believe My Heart?)

"What happened to you, Mr. Volk?"

"Just a slight altercation, Marjorie. Nothing to worry about." Gunnar resisted touching his nose to see if it still hurt, because it probably did. "Did you take care of the problem in the White Gloves?"

"We did, Mr. Volk. I think you understand, we don't want this to be as… public… as Mortimer's judgment and execution." Marjorie delicately straightened the few papers on her desk. 

"Of course. But they are taken care of?" Gunnar raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. You needn't worry about them any longer."

Gunnar leaned forward. "Let's put our cards on the table, Marjorie. I won't tolerate cannibalism in my city or its territories. Are these other 'friends of Mortimer' dead? Exiled? Imprisoned?"

Marjorie flushed slightly in anger. "Mr. Volk. We are cultured people here at the White Gloves Society. We do not approve of cannibalism. You know yourself that I specifically said this would not be tolerated in our Society any more. These people have been discovered, drummed out of the Society, stripped of all privileges, and allowed to remove themselves from society at large."

Gunnar tried to think what that might mean. "Poison?" he suggested.

"I'm glad you understand, Mr. Volk. It's a quieter way of dealing with such unpleasantness, and yet still allows the Society to demonstrate that such unpleasantness will not be tolerated in any way."

Gunnar decided he wasn't going to eat at the Ultra-Luxe from now on, even if they offered ice cream. "Good to know," was what he said.

~ ~ ~

Then the discussion about the Fiends, telling the NCR that he had his best operatives on it — his only operatives, to be fair — and some research into the Khans.

While Gunnar did sympathize with the Khans' struggles with the NCR, especially what happened at Bitter Springs, there was also the reality that the Khans raided NCR settlements and caravans long before that had happened. There was also the popular belief that the Khans supplied drugs to the Fiends.

If that were true, Gunnar really didn't need the Khans selling drugs to his citizens, nor raiding them. Whether they would change their ways, he didn't know, and maybe that was a task for later. Right now he just needed them on his side or not involved in the war at all. And that meant a trip to Red Rock Canyon. 

Given that he was known for traveling with an NCR sniper, and the current and extended bad blood between the NCR and the Great Khans, it was better to leave Boone behind for those reasons alone. Cass, maybe? 

Gunnar walked while lost in his thoughts for a while, until he realized someone was trying to talk to him. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said, Mister Volk, looks like you got in a scuffle," the woman said. 

She looked familiar… "Betty? From the Gomorrah?"

"You remembered me!" She brightened. "Yeah, my one day off this month. So what happened? That's a real shiner you've got."

"You should see the other guy," Gunnar said, remembering Cass' words.

Betty's face fell. "Not your Follower boyfriend!"

"No, no! It wasn't him at all!" So much for that cliche. "No, it was just a problem with the Fiends." Wait, how'd she already know about Arcade? Gunnar wasn't sure if they were even — oh. The Ultra-Luxe date. Of course.

"Okay. You know, if you ever want to try something different, I could recommend someone," Betty said.

Coming from the Gomorrah? Ew. "Thanks, but no, Betty. So how're things with Cachino in charge?"

"He's a pumblechook, same as he was before. New staff under him though. And he's scared of you after what happened to the White Gloves."

Gunnar nodded. "Good to know. Hey, Betty, do you know where I might buy any old holotapes? In good condition. From before the war."

She stopped and patted her hair, thinking. "I don't know, Mister Volk. Maybe try Mick and Ralph's over in Freeside. They have a lot of old junk there, and they might know where you could find that kinda stuff."

"Thanks, Betty. Good luck and have a good rest of the day."

"You too, Mister Volk."

~ ~ ~

"Holotapes?" Ralph looked at the shelves in the dimly lit store. "Sometimes. Not many people have players for the movies. Usually it's programs for terminals or robots, stuff like that. I can take a look in the back, though."

"Do you really have any stock in the back, or are you just going to hang out for a smoke break?" Gunnar asked.

Ralph slowly grinned. "You know about that, huh? Yeah, we do have some stuff that we haven't sorted yet. If I find anything I'll send a kid over to the 38 to tell you. How about that?"

"Sure, that's fine."

Ralph snapped his fingers. "Oh, hey. Some trader came through with some of those a couple of days ago. Not Crimson Caravan, that's why I remember, they've cornered a lot of the caravan market. He had some old tapes, trying to sell them to Mr. New Vegas and anyone else who'd buy 'em."

"But that was a couple days ago." Gunnar saw a coffee mug with a crudely drawn cartoon he recognized: _You want it WHEN?_ It wasn't funny two hundred years ago, either. "He could be anywhere."

 _"Could_ be, but he was going to head east toward the Grub 'n' Gulp next. You might go look there. If you really want to see what kind of tapes he has."

~ ~ ~

Boone was not a natural romantic. Arcade had seen that. Gunnar was a hopeless romantic. And if experience and study had taught Arcade anything, it was that hopeless romantics loved being wooed and showered with affection. 

Therefore, while Boone was safely out of the way and couldn't interrupt a date, this was the best time to go on said date and… Arcade sighed to himself. And what? He shouldn't get close. He _knew_ he shouldn't get close. It would be a huge mistake.

_Except —_

Except he wouldn't get this chance again, and it was a great chance. At Gunnar's side he could truly help rebuild the world. Gunnar had the power and the belief to make it happen. And he was educated and articulate and, yes, handsome too, and personable. The only real downside might be that Gunnar wasn't cutthroat enough for this world… but he had enough good friends, and a bunch of killer Securitrons, to protect him.

Arcade leaned on the frame of the empty second-story window, watching the people below. It was very easy to rationalize a relationship, wasn't it? It wasn't _really_ emotional, it was simply political. Or purely physical. Or any number of things that meant nothing deeper.

And yet, hadn't he chided Gunnar for wanting to wait after a breakup? This life was hard. Get your pleasure where you could. But that wasn't the same thing, and Arcade knew it. _And if he pointed that out, what would you say?_ he asked himself, casually tossing a pebble of concrete out the window.

 _Or how about: if he wasn't the self-proclaimed ruler of New Vegas, would you still go for him?_ Yes, actually. Sexy innocence, memory lapses, quirks and all. 

He should talk to Daisy, maybe, get his head on straight. _But there's a war coming and there might not be time._ And Gunnar could keep secrets and had proven himself reliable. _Except for getting around to talking to my people._

Dammit.

Walls protected, but also constricted. If the gates were opened, anyone could get in. Anyone could cause trouble. But a healthy city outgrows its walls, if it's lucky.

Was he lucky enough?


	44. Where Have You Been All My Life?

"Where were you all day?" Arcade asked when Gunnar finally returned. "I'd hoped we could hit up the Chairmen for a meal."

"We have food here," Gunnar said. "I was looking for holotapes. More movies." He shrugged out of his coat. "It's cold out there. For being the Mojave."

"It's colder than usual," Arcade said. "Did you find anything?" He'd looked forward to going somewhere. It wasn't something he could usually do, especially not at a fancy place. 

"No, nothing around here. Probably not many survived in the first place, and if they survived in good condition." Gunnar shook his head. "Any luck finding someone for the secretary-assistant job?"

"I talked to Julie and she said she'd ask around. Someone with those skills is pretty valuable." Arcade picked up the menu of what the Lucky 38 could provide for dinner, in hopes that something had changed since the last time he'd looked. No such luck. "Which means they've probably already got a good job, and you didn't give me an idea of what salary to offer."

"I first need to know if someone can even do that and is willing and able to switch. If money moves them, they'll jump ship as soon as someone offers them more. I feel like having spaghetti. Man, I miss food."

"You miss food?" Arcade didn't understand that. Gunnar hadn't starved before he'd gone into the Vault. He was healthier than most of the modern population by a long shot.

"My food. From before. And a lot of that just isn't here. Maybe in California there's better options. And this is a desert, I don't expect fields of wheat, but… jeez, just some bread or pasta, bacon and eggs… c'mon, pick something off that menu and let's get dinner."

~ ~ ~

"It's kind of weird, just two of us here." They ate at the big table in the presidential suite.

"Yeah. I liked having everyone around." 

"So I noticed. You don't like to be alone," Arcade said, pushing the last piece of food around on his place to mop up the sauce.

Gunnar shook his head. "I don't. I like having people around me."

"You've achieved that. If you invite anyone else in, we'll need more beds." Arcade popped the food into his mouth.

"I think there could be room. And the cocktail lounge and casino, I need those fixed up anyway. I don't know if I want to keep running the place as a casino. But I could use some office space for a secretary, whenever I get one, and for anyone else who has work to do." Gunnar pointed his empty fork at Arcade. "Like you."

"Me?" Arcade failed to look innocent.

"Yes, you. When the war's over, there'll be a lot to work on. I want the city cleaned up. It's been rubble long enough. Rebuild. We have power and water from the Dam, so why not make it work for us? And give people jobs, instead of coming here to lose all their money, and with it their hopes and dreams?"

"You don't believe in gambling, do you?" Arcade mused, resting his chin in his hand.

"If a return was guaranteed? Of course I'd do it. But it isn't guaranteed, because that's the nature of gambling. You hope that you'll get lucky. And the odds are always against the gambler." Gunnar finished his own food and pushed the plate aside. "So if I put people to work, clearing the streets, getting rid of the rubble, and building new structures. Shops. Restaurants. Homes."

"That'll take money. Are you getting rid of gambling?"

"Are you kidding? People would lynch me. And they'd just go do it somewhere else. This way I can get the revenue from it, which will fund the rebirth of the city."

"The Ponix of New Vegas," Arcade murmured, gazing softly at Gunnar.

"Are you okay?"

"Sure. Go on."

Gunnar looked at him as though he didn't quite believe that. "Anyway. I know the Families are doing their damnedest to hide money from me. If they aren't, they will be. So I need to give them incentive to help me."

"How?"

Gunnar folded his hands together and leaned forward as if about to impart a great secret. Arcade leaned forward to listen.

"Tax deductions if they build city improvements. Library, hospital, school, whatever, but it has to be built well, no slapdash work. They can put their name on it if they want. Any person or group who wants a tax break can do this." Gunnar leaned back. "They do the work so I don't have to, they get to preen about it, and they pay for it, probably more than the tax break would be. Of course I'll need building inspectors, maybe from California if they actually have that kind of infrastructure there."

Arcade stayed leaning forward. After a moment, he said, "I can see you've put a lot of thought into this."

"I have."

"I am _so turned on_ right now."

Gunnar froze.

There was an awkward two seconds.

"Intellectually, I mean. Rebuilding an entire city from ruins, tax policy, infrastructure, it's quite an intellectual and logistical challenge." Arcade adjusted his glasses and quickly sat back. "You were saying I get an office to work on this?"

"Uh… yes, you would," Gunnar said. "If it's okay with you, could you take care of the dishes? I have to… I forgot if I got the mail when I got home."

"…Yeah, sure. I can do that." Arcade waited for Gunnar to leave, then collected the plates. The robots would take care of them, but that wasn't the point. _That could've gone better,_ he thought. Sure, Gunnar had been surprised by those words, but that look… Had it been panic? Wariness? Or, probably, just plain surprise and confusion. 

But this wasn't the end of the world. He'd just go to Gunnar and say… something. 

After washing the dishes, to give himself some time to think, Arcade went to find Gunnar, who was sorting the holotape library.

"Mr. House only collected these because they were collector's editions, I think," Gunnar said, when Arcade entered the library. "Most of them were never watched. He just had them because he was expected to show them off. That was before the war, when he still had people visit."

"That one you showed us was entertaining," Arcade acknowledged. "Why don't we go to Novac tomorrow?"

"Eh?" Gunnar looked up.

"We can leave a note for the others in case they get back first," Arcade continued. "And I'm sure we can be back before the end of the year in any case. We can pick up all your stuff from your Novac room."

"I guess," Gunnar said doubtfully. He put the holotapes back on the shelf, in order. "It's not like any of that is critical."

"True, but it's not very secure either. It's a locked door and the hope that nobody sneaks in during the dead of night. You've got, what, a rad suit, those books…"

Arcade could tell that wasn't enough, so he added, "And you said yourself you still have to deal with the Brotherhood, which is near there" — depending on definition of "near" — "and maybe they've got some holotapes in the gift shop." Which Arcade didn't believe for a moment.

Neither did Gunnar, evidently, based on his eyeroll and smile. "Okay, okay, we'll go to Novac in the morning. I guess let's pack tonight then so we can get a good start. And you know, we should see if we can find a caravan or trader willing to haul some or all of it back for me. Those books alone are heavy."

"Sure. Novac's a big enough settlement I'm sure we can find a caravan heading back to Vegas."

Packs were packed, weapons readied, note written, and Gunnar brushing his teeth (the toothbrush might be old, but the brushing powder was locally made and therefore new-ish) when he realized Arcade was watching him again. Gunnar frowned at him — _I'm in the bathroom, jeez_ — spat into the sink, and said, "Do we need to get another photo made? It would last longer."

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to apologize for earlier."

Gunnar rinsed his mouth with a handful of water and spit again. "About what?"

"When you were talking about your plans for the city, and I… said…"

"That you were really turned on. I get it, Arcade. You're into all that stuff. It's okay."

"It is?" 

"Sure. I mean, it's unusual, but that's you." Gunnar shrugged and moved past Arcade to leave the bathroom. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"That's…" That's not it at all, it's not just the topic, it's also the speaker! "That's very open-minded of you."

Gunnar chuckled. "I have to be, don't I?" He gestured with the pajamas. "Can I change now?"

"Yes. Of course. I'll… go get ready." Arcade had moved his belongings into the penthouse already, and collected all of Boone's things down to the suite. 

He should have said something. Something else, that is. At least it hadn't gone worse. 

That night, they cuddled again, and Arcade hoped he'd figure this all out soon.


	45. Hangover Heart

The next morning they set out, telling Yes Man that Gunnar would be back soon and to keep everything locked down tight until the others returned.

They didn't talk much in the early morning, saving their breath against the winter air. They both wore helmets as well, partly for warmth and partly for keeping Gunnar's identity a secret. It would be prudent to avoid alerting any hit squads or other interested parties.

It wasn't until Vegas was well behind them that Gunnar lowered his scarf and said "So where are we _really_ going?"

"Novac," Arcade said, surprised. 

"To collect a bunch of dusty stuff nobody cares about except me, and even I don't think it's that important? C'mon, Arcade."

"Okay, there is a different reason to go there." Arcade hitched his pack up a little higher on his back. "Remember my people?"

"Oh, jeez, you're right. And I keep putting it off. That's my fault." Gunnar shook his head. "Well, now we're going. So one of them's in Novac? Anyone I know?"

"…Daisy Whitman."

"Mm, not ringing a bell. Of course I never spend a lot of time there. Okay. We'll go talk to her. And get that other stuff while we're there, as our cover story. As poor a story as it is." Gunnar smiled.

They made their way south, following the old Highway 515, and talked about anything that came to mind, to pass the time; though Gunnar didn't bring up any more of his city planning. 

Eventually the talk turned to the food before the war, and the stuff that had survived. "I always wondered why anyone would enjoy eating it," Arcade said, "but there's so many of them left around. The snack cakes and so on."

"I suspect those are just the ones that lasted the longest," Gunnar said. "There used to be a lot more."

"What about all the liquor? And the sodas?"

"Now, those, well, there was a lot of alcohol back in the day. And Nuka-Cola and Saspa — Sars-pa — that's not easy for me to say — anyway, those were two of the dominant soda companies. It's why there's still so many sodas still about. The sodas seem to all be okay, except… well, they're flat, they're warm, they're all radioactive like so much of the food."

"They're not meant to be like that?"

"No!" When Gunnar got into 'teacher mode' it was hard to stop him, but Arcade didn't mind at all. Gunnar would get so animated, so into the passing-on of knowledge, it was obvious how much he enjoyed it. "No, they were originally carbonated."

"What's that?"

"Bubbles were added, to make it fizzy."

Arcade wasn't sure how that was supposed to be tasty. "I know the old machines all say things like 'enjoy an ice cold Nuka-Cola'," he said thoughtfully. 

"Right. The original flavored sodas were actually soda water — carbonated water — with flavored syrups added. Many of them had to be served warm because there was no way to keep them chilled or have a lot of ice in them — as the ice melts it waters down the drink, you see. And they were called 'soft drinks' because they weren't hard liquor. Get it?"

"I suppose. What's beer, then? It isn't hard liquor."

"That's true. Beer depended on what culture you were in. In Germany it wasn't considered much of alcohol, at least as I understand it, but here in America it was, so kids couldn't drink it and it was served cold, and, well, wasn't very good, really."

"There's so much in that sentence that I need you to expand on," Arcade said, grinning. "Of course freshly made beer is so much better than the old stuff, but whiskey and spirits don't seem to have quite the same problem."

"Old American beer, if I can call it that, was meant to be served cold and carbonated, and it was made in factories, so it's not like actual freshly brewed beer," Gunnar said. "I actually had a bottle of it a little while after I died. It was… disgusting, this many years later."

"I thought alcohol made you sick." There was another issue here, but — 

"Well, it… sorta does," Gunnar said. "Spirits make me black out now. I used to be able to drink. Not a lot, just, you know, socially with dinner, that sort of thing. But after I died, I tried… I think it was scotch? I don't know now, but I lost a big part of the day from it. I don't know if I passed out or just lost time."

"That's horrifying." It was, especially if he'd already lost memories in the first place.

"Yeah, so I stopped that. Then later on, after Craig and I started traveling together, I tried one of those old beers. I… got really silly."

"Silly? You?" Arcade said, mock-surprised.

"Get out." Gunnar grinned and faked a punch at Arcade's arm. "Yeah. That one weak old beer really messed me up. And that's embarrassing."

"Like… how silly?"

"Like, I don't want to repeat it," Gunnar said, a little more firmly. "It's easier to just say it makes me sick."

"Do you ever miss it?" There was a brief impulse to see what "silly Gunnar" might be — tipsy? more overtly flirty than he could already get? — but Arcade ignored it. That would be wrong in so many ways.

Gunnar shrugged. "Maybe? I don't know. Sometimes I wish I could join in just because everyone else is. I never liked being drunk, the one time I did it. So I was careful about drinking ever afterward."

"I see. That makes sense to say drinking makes you ill."

"Not to mention, if anyone tries to poison me, it'll be a lot harder since poisons can more easily go undetected in alcohol or strongly flavored drinks," Gunnar continued.

"I have another question," Arcade said.

"Sure."

"How do you know all this, but you can't remember your former partners' names?"

"I — " Gunnar's face froze, and for a moment Arcade wondered if he was having a memory episode, but then Gunnar shook his head. "I don't know."

"Because you can pull all this information out of your head, and at least some of it correlates with what I know; I simply wasn't there to know everything about that time that you personally experienced," Arcade said. "Yet you can't tell us anything about their names, what they looked like, only that you had a blissfully happy life with three or possibly four people — "

"Are you saying I made it up?" Gunnar asked, his voice suddenly cold.

"No, of course not," Arcade said, realizing just how thin the metaphorical ice had suddenly become, but he couldn't stop. "Just that for all your episodes, and all you seem able to recall, you can't tell us specifics about — "

Gunnar stood directly in front of Arcade, fists clenched. "I didn't make any of them up," he said. "They're real. Were real. I loved them. And one of them was, was tall and blond, like you — "

"And you said one of them was a sharpshooter, and — " _And maybe you were projecting those currently around you onto those memories?_

"Stop and think for one minute," Gunnar said, in a low, dangerous voice. "Every time I flash back, every time my memories hijack me, I learn only what my brain reveals. I have no control over that. But so many times when I remember them, it hurts, because they're _gone_ and it hurts all over again as I remember something new, so no matter how much I want to remember, I'm tired of getting hurt, too."

He backed off and stalked a few steps, facing away from Arcade.

"…I probably could've gotten that if you'd let me have that minute," Arcade said.

"Look, this is hard enough," Gunnar said, still facing away. "I know I'll remember more as time goes on. And sometimes they'll come at terrible times. And sometimes they'll make me want to break down. And I can't afford either of those, not with war coming, not with everything I have to do." He turned his head slightly. "Please don't make it worse."

"Okay," Arcade said softly. "Those are all very good points. But you'll keep remembering."

"I know I will." Gunnar looked ahead down the road. "I won't be able to stop it. And eventually I'll remember as much as I'm able, whether or not it's everything, and then it'll be easier for me."

Neither one spoke for a few moments. At last Arcade walked up to stand beside Gunnar, who didn't look at him. "I suppose now that I know these things, I can do a better job helping you out," Arcade said. 

Gunnar looked at him then, and Arcade smiled back.

"You had to practice smiling as a kid, didn't you," Gunnar said. "Instead of smirking."

Arcade actually laughed. "That bad?"

"Yeah. That bad." But now Gunnar was smiling faintly too. 

"I suppose I'd better practice more, if we're going to rebuild the world together."

"Together, is it?"

"Unless you kick me out."

They began walking south again.

"I'd rather not. You've got a lot of useful skills."

"Is that the only reason?"

"No," Gunnar said. "You think fast on your feet, you understand a lot of what I want you to do, you're intelligent, educated…" He shrugged. "You have a lot of good points."

"So you only want me for my mind?" Arcade asked.

"What, I should want you for your looks, too?" Gunnar said, mock-affronted. "Are you that shallow, Mr. Gannon? You need me to say something about your wavy blond hair, your coke-bottle glasses — "

"Hey!"

"Besides, I thought you'd rather I appreciate your mind. You said yourself, what was it, lovers don't make good confidants? And we've trusted each other with quite a bit." Gunnar raised his eyebrows.

"…That's correct, I said that."

They walked on in silence.


End file.
